Beautiful Music
by jennifer ryan
Summary: SLASH. Eric/Hyde. Chapter 22 coming May/June 2013.
1. It's Just a Kiss Away

:)

This story originated as a personal challenge to myself. I haven't written many stories, but I read a lot and in my opinion the three hardest kinds to write would be cartoons, sitcoms and slash. My goal for this story is to combine those three things with the one thing I ABSOLUTELY HATE - song fics. So really all I'm trying to do here is write a slash fic for a sitcom, making it a song fic that crosses over with a cartoon and making it SOMEWHAT REALISTIC. No sweat, right?

The word G-d is obscured because it is too Holy to be written on paper, because a piece of paper can be destroyed. Since a story can be printed out and then tossed in the trash, the name of G-d is spelled with a dash.

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
by Jennifer Ryan  
01/01/06

:)

**Beautiful Music**

I didn't love her at all, but I really liked her a lot. She was demanding and I was a bastard, which made everything equal. I haven't a cruel word to say about her and though most of my memories are happy ones, when she left for Chicago, I wasn't sorry to see her go. It relieved a great deal of the pressure of pleasing her.

She needed me; needed me to tell her things and take her places and make a big, flowery display. The walls I erected and perfected in my younger years are not so tall now, more like a fence she was allowed to stand behind on the occasion she wished to speak and a barrier I would hide behind when I did not care to answer. I was treasured, I know, but I was a trophy, too.

I'm happy she's happy, but I'm more glad she's gone. If only she hadn't taken Donna with her and broken my best friend's heart. I often become reflective like this, as a way to block Forman's repetitive and unhappy chatter.

"She can study journalism anywhere. She wanted to leave me. She always wanted to leave."

I turn to look him in the eye and tell him, "Yes, she did." He needs to understand. I do. I suspect he does and pushes it down so deep that he can ignore it, but everything would be better if he would just accept the simple, obvious, undeniable and easily believable truth. "She's eighteen years old, man. Of course she wanted to leave. Forman, she's _eighteen_ years old."

"I've loved her since we were babies. She was my best friend."

I put my arm around his shoulder and shake him gently. "No she wasn't. I am." He breathes a laugh and I stand in front of him, my hand reaching for him to join me as I speak sweet words of love. "Come on, let's get trashed."

:)

**The Roundabout**

From the mirror behind the bar I study long, sandy hair and poorly applied makeup. Her friends look like whores, too. It's been so long since I've - though I'm aware my demeanor implies otherwise, I don't like them dirty. Well, not too dirty.

But now I am drunk, gloriously and fantastically so, which makes me think it would be a great idea to put the moves on them.

Before I can push myself from the bar, one of my top thousand favorite songs comes on and I'm captivated. Since it's only about nine minutes long, I light a cigarette in sweet celebration of things that both rock and roll. Blowing smoke in Forman's face, I drape my arm around his shoulders and sing loudly, "_I'll be the roundaboooooout. The words will maaaake you out and out ..._ "

He smiles for me, but sadly, and continues to pretzel dive. I want to smack him until he believes that Donna leaving was a good thing. Their relationship was way too volatile - if I'm using that word correctly - and frankly I was growing bored with their dramatics.

He needs to quit lingering on the things they have in common and pay attention to how vastly different the two of them really are. Donna is a smart girl with big ideas. She needs people around her, intellectual stimulation and whatever else it was she used to blather about endlessly while I drank my beer and nodded. Did he really think she'd be happy in Pointless Place, Wisconsin, working part time at the radio station for a guy whose main interest is her tits?

If he wants to dwell on commonalities, he should stick with the kid. I'm his best friend, drinking buddy, confidant, cohort, partner in crime, ally and definitely his main man. Though he sits beside me consumed by Donna's perceived rejection, I both suffer through it and forgive him for it, because Eric doesn't yet realize that I am his soul mate. He just needs to cheer the fuck up. Everything will be fine in time, especially if I can get him laid.

My song is over and I check on the girls to see they've been claimed by a really interesting looking group of black guys. I'm a little surprised by that until I hear the sandy-haired one giggle and speak. They must be Polish girls from Kenosha, where many of the young immigrants are prostitutes. That may sound unfair, but I don't live in the most diverse or liberal spot in the world, and if a black man wants to make time with a white woman, more often than not, she is a foreign girl. And then no one notices or gives a shit, because in Point Place a Polish girl might as well be a nigger and that just sucks.

My attention is captured by another good song and I smile. So maybe I can't get us laid, but this is still a good night. I put my arm around Forman's shoulder and shake him close, so I can sing in his ear. "_War, children, it's just a shot away. It's just a shot away. It's just a shot away ..._"

That's when he fades white as a sheet and almost throws up on the floor. I clap my hand over his mouth, chastising myself for not knowing better than to shake the beer filled idiot. As his soul mate, I'm well aware of his nervous stomach and his nervous everything else. I direct him to the wash room, filling the sink with cool water to dunk him in, but he saves himself by sliding to his knees. I check my shoes for barf while he breathes through the nausea, because that's really all he can do at this point, the naughty little drunk.

"Listen to me, Forman. She's eighteen fucking years old. If your dad had the money, you'd go to college anywhere but here, too. Did you want her to live miserable in a trailer or some a crappy apartment while you spend the next ten years trying to figure out how to pull your shit together?"

"No," it comes as a pathetic whisper. "But I didn't want her to leave me."

"She didn't leave you; she does loves you. She left here."

"She'll find someone else. Maybe she has already."

I bend down to be close and before I pull him up I promise, "Yes, she will." The shock in his eyes hurts me deeply, but it's Tao, man. "Be happy for her instead of sorry for yourself." I use my thumb to wipe away what may be a tear and express tenderness in the only way I really feel comfortable. "Hurry up and puke so we can finish drinking. We're not unconscious yet."

I lead him to the bar, where we find the Polish girls waiting in our seats. I smile, politely excusing myself as I brush against her breast to reach for my beer. Sandy-hair wraps long red finger nails around the bottle and speaks in terribly broken English. "Beer nice, but vodka better. Yes?" Her friends both giggle, but I'm not sure why.

"Much better." I wrap my hand around hers and introduce myself. "Daltrey. Roger Daltrey." The bartender places a bottle in front of us and she pays with a twenty dollar bill, then takes a long drink straight from the bottle. Though I'm in mad, crazy, dirty, sinful love, the last of my money is a five and I sadly doubt it's enough for a blow job. Knowing that drinking fast is the cheapest high, I finish my own beer in a long, quick pull and fish for something cool to say. Before I can decide, the magic is broken by a series of hiccups and I turn to see my best friend sobbing like a bitch. I hit him in the arm as hard as I can, hoping he'll knock it off; instead the tears begin to pour. He hugs the bottle close and bangs his head against the bar.

"What is wrong with pretty friend?"

As she moves toward him, I stop her, leaning close to whisper. "Look, recently his fiancee ... killed herself. He's had to take the semester off from medical school. It's been an incredible stress."

She goes to him and takes his face in her hands, slowly kissing each cheek. "Let Nadia hold you better, yes?" She pushes his face into her cleavage, holding him tight and through tears, I see the corner of his mouth turn up, just a little - just enough.

Another hand full of long red fingernails comes from behind me and slides across my chest. "I am Sasha. I like groovy American man with curled hair."

"Hi, Sasha." I restrain myself from saying _I like Polish whore with big breasts and no morals. _"Let's drink vodka."

For the first time I notice the third girl - the resemblance is so that they must be sisters, not twins, but they could be mistaken for them. Blue Oyster Cult plays in the background and now I love this song. We drink _a lot_ of vodka. We don't stop until they throw us out.

:)

The world spins when I wake and I'm unsure if time has passed. All that exists is the ceiling, a field of stark white with that rough texture that rolls in sea sickening waves. I feel slow and uncoordinated, sure I just need a few minutes to wake. Though I don't remember exactly how we got here or where here is, I know we walked a while, because Nadia was holding up Eric and carrying on about pretty, pretty sad boy. Sasha had her arm in mine and Mariska had her hand in my back pocket so she could caress my sexy American ass.

I think some of their friends picked us up and drove us because I had to lay down so bad - things were spinning fast. I remember seeing Eric draped across the bed, fast asleep, and I remember something about Mariska giving me the blow job for which I'd hoped. We must have really downed a lot of booze because I slept harder than ever and remember little.

And this room is fucking cold, man. When I'm finally able to move I see Forman naked, curled into the fetal position and poorly covered by a sheet. Fuck, I don't know where my clothes are either - no wonder I'm freezing. Heh, I think Forman and I spent the whole night pounding into three Polish girls. It's a dream come true, except for the part with Forman being there and the part where the girls are Polish.

Sensation returns slowly and realize I feel worse than like shit. You know, I think I remember Nadia and Sasha going at each other. It IS just like my dreams.

My mind drifts a good while before I realize Forman hasn't moved an inch. Terror floods me and I hold my breath and close my eyes, suddenly afraid he's no longer alive. Poking him with a finger, I make contact with pale skin that is ice cold, but responsive. Relieved, I swaddle him in the top sheet, wrapping my arms around him tight, happy to feel his tiny breaths against me.

As my head begins to clear, I wonder where we are. This room appears little more than an abandoned studio apartment decorated with a dingy bed, a broken mirror leaning against the wall and a bare, flickering light bulb ready to burn out. Since I'm able to move, I wrap the other sheet around myself and look for our clothes to no avail. I crack the door to investigate a scuffle in the hall and am shocked to see homeless people everywhere. Point Place does not boast a single derelict since Red and Kitty took me in, which means that I don't know where the hell this is until I look out the window.

We're not only in Kenosha, man, we're on the wrong side of the tracks, evidenced by the actual train tracks running not fifty yards away. A few miles north should be the concert hall where we saw Bob Segar a few months ago and the little diner we got kicked out of for being "incorrigible rapscallions." A little boy with long dreds watches me and when I ask if he has a dime for the pay phone he tells me to use the one on the string. On closer inspection, the coin box is smashed open and indeed a dime, or really a washer the size of one, is mounted permanently on its side. I call Fez quickly, before the drug dealer who lives on this pay phone figures out I'm using it.

Two tense hours later, Fez arrives with clothes and my cigarettes. We can't wake Forman for anything, even though I tell him repeatedly that I'm not carrying him to the car. Fez is confused and a little shocked, but I explain we picked up some whores, which makes him insanely jealous and very impressed. "Don't you think Fez would like maybe to pick some whores and play for hours with their boobies?" I know the answer to that question, so I ignore it and try to pull on my blue jeans while balancing a cigarette. Fez stares quizzically and points out that I have a huge bruise on my ass in the shape of a hand print. Like an idiot, I try to look, but do little more than chase my tail like a puppy. He stops me and lays his hand across it. "She must have been some giant whore. Her hand is bigger than mine."

Suddenly, I don't care that he's touching me because I can't look away from it or remember how to speak. I must have been really drunk, because I have no explanation for what could have happened to us last night. With Fez as my clumsy assistant, we dress Eric and quietly I check every inch for marks other than the bruises that are on his arms. Amid the catcalls of winos and junkies, I carry him to the car after all.

:)

**It's just a shot away**

I feel like I've been pounding on the door for twenty minutes; that's usually how long it takes to wake Leo up of an afternoon. He throws it open and gives me the usual, "Oh, hey man," before he notices that Fez and I are dragging a badly hungover Forman into his living room. "What happened to him?"

Fez answers him, with a surprising hint of jealous anger. "Steven and Eric were raped by a gaggle of Polish whores."

I frog him so hard I hope his gramma felt it all the way back in Venezuela. "We weren't raped - by anybody. Don't even think about saying that shit out loud again." I can tell by the look in his eyes, he's never seen me so psychotically pissed.

"Why are you angry at me?"

"I'm not angry - just don't say that." We lay Forman on the sofa and he sighs and rolls over. "Leo, I've got to use your shower in the worst way."

"No problem, man. Just keep the spray on cool or Benny will get pissed."

I have to laugh at that. "So that giant mushroom growing in your shower finally has a first name?" Little did I know when I pulled back the curtain how terribly wrong I was. I yell for Leo, more out of disbelief than shock. Hot on my heels, he kneels in front of the bathtub and dips his fingers in the water, singing _Benny, man, Benny. How's my best friend? How's my little buddy? Hey, little Benny._

"_Little Benny!?_ Leo, man, where the hell did you get that thing?"

"I found him. You won't believe this, but he's Buddhist. And he understands English just fine, so you can tell him anything."

I look down at the two-foot long goldfish in astonishment and take a slow, deep breath, embarrassed to have been so startled. I guess it's just been one of those days. "You talk to him, Leo? He answers you?"

"I meditate with him, man. He communicates telepathically on a spiritual level."

"I think I'll skip the shower and make some coffee for Forman." I don't know where anybody finds a giant goldfish, although it sounds frighteningly within the scope of Leo's expertise. I don't care how dirty I feel, I'm not taking a shower with it. Instead I guzzle half a pot of strong black coffee then dilute some with milk for Eric. Before I can get the second mug down his throat, he's in the bathroom chucking it up. He does seem less groggy now and I didn't hear Benny complain about the company or the smell.

Fez flips on the tube for poor, wrung out Forman, who lets me help him to the sofa, where he immediately falls and curls into an unhappy ball. I place a blanket over him and Fez pets his hair, telling him that this is the episode of the _Superfriends_ where Bizarro gets kicked in the nuts by Solomon Grundy. Leo rolls a joint for the two of us and we sit Indian-style in front of the picture window with the tea some of his weird monk buddys laid on him last time there was a stoner's reunion. It's not bad at all, some kind of orange and jasmine, but it doesn't seem different than what you'd buy at the market.

"You're in way more trouble than you think, man. They probably shot him up with heroin and that's why he's pukin'. It's just gonna get worse, too, until it's out of his system."

Beautiful, that explains the bruises all over his arms. I take an extra long toke and hold it until my lungs burn, wondering how I'll ever be able to cover for something like this. We haven't been home in almost twenty four hours. Red is gonna shove his foot straight up my ass, no matter what the excuse.

"I've heard about this kind of thing before. They take pictures of it and then you gotta pay to get 'em back. If you don't, they give them to your family and plaster them all over town. And man, if those girls let their boyfriends get a turn at Forman ..."

"Don't say it, Leo! Don't even think it. Nothing happened." He looks at me like I'm the world's biggest idiot, then I realize he's just stoned. Though the pot is gone, it didn't take my problems with it as I'd hoped, just made them more difficult to solve. Fortunately, they didn't give me whatever it was they gave Eric, or we'd still be lying defenseless in that cold little room until somebody found us or until we died. It's pathetic of me, but I'm a little unsure of which would be worse. I don't realize Eric's awake until he shuffles to my side and leans against me in a vain attempt to join me on the floor. I'm afraid to help him bend because I don't want to get barfed on.

"What are you guys arguing about?"

"We're not. If you're going to be sick again, hurry up and do it. Fez brought the El Camino and it already smells like something died in it."

"No, I can't let my mom see me. Hyde, what did we do?"

"We got rolled by a couple of pros, Forman. They put something in our drinks and took off with all our stuff. You'll feel better when it wears off." He nods and calmly walks to the bathroom, where his retching gives way to a startled yelp. He found Benny, man.

Fez and I walk Eric around Leo's back yard for over forty-five minutes, giving him soda and crackers to help with the nausea. Though still shaky and sweaty, he'll be able to walk in the house on his own, so Mrs. Forman will think it's the flu. He hangs out the window the entire way home, something I only wish I could do. I don't know what the hell Fez did to my car, but as soon as I'm through being indebted to him, I'm going to kick his ass. It's almost dark and as I pull into the driveway, Red and Bob are leaning against the Toyota and sharing a six-pack.

"Well, well. I told Kitty I'd get a chance to kick some teenage ass before bed tonight and so I was right." Red opens the door for me with an unnerving smile on his face and Bob laughs a little before downing the rest of his beer. "So, Steven, where have you been for the last twenty-seven hours?" I step out of the car and he looks past me, acting happily surprised. "Wait a minute, is that my son over there? Well, come on out of the car, Eric. How the hell are you?"

I can't stand it when he smiles like this. He doesn't really give a damn where we were or what we were doing, he just wants to bust my nuts over it because Mrs. Forman was worried. "Look, Red, I'm sorry we didn't call, but .." He puts his arm around my shoulder and raises his hand to silence me.

"Of course you didn't call, Steven. Why, I'm old enough to know there are no telephones in happy fun dumb ass land."

Fez helps Eric out of the passenger side and they head toward the basement until Bob intercedes. "You OK, kiddo. You don't look so hot."

"Mr. Pinciotti?" Eric is wide-eyed and throws his arms around Bob, making an exaggerated spectacle. "She left me. She left me. She left m - I have to throw up."

"Heya, Red," Bob hangs on to Eric to hold him up. "I think he's been drinking."

"They've all been drinking, Bob. They're eighteen and unemployed. It's the only time I can get them out of my damn house. Eric, if you throw up on my driveway, you're cleaning it. Now, get your ass inside and don't let your mother see you."

"Yes, sir." He stumbles away slowly and takes the back door into the basement, while Fez excuses himself home and far away from us all.

I'm so relieved we've made it this far. I just want a really long shower and to forget any of this ever happened. Red goes inside to let Kitty know everything is fine. Mr. Pinciotti pats me on the back and smiles before going home and I stop him briefly. "Do you still have Donna's plastic wading pool in the garage?"

:)

**It's just a kiss away**

After I scrub my skin raw, I pull on sweatpants and my Zeppelin shirt and join Eric in the basement. He's lying on the couch, staring straight at Gilligan's Island, but oblivious to it. I lay in the opposite direction and study the ceiling, wondering what I'm going to do. Those hookers got to know we have no money and no anything else. They think all Americans are rich; do they really have it so bad? In a way, I guess I can understand. I remember what it's like to be hungry and cold, or so lonely that I've gone for days without human contact. I lived so long without feeling love for another person or feeling another person love me that I almost didn't recognize it when it happened. I won't go back to that hell without a fight.

When I was little, I remember thinking Eric was rich because he had several sets of clothes and a new toy every week. He had two parents and even though his dad could be gruff, I've seen him sitting in the old man's lap about a thousand times, whether he was at the kitchen table coloring on the evening paper or in the living room watching TV. They had a really clean house with heat and a mommy who never once said, _you ruined my life._

Is that how the Polish girls see us? Now that I'm older I know that it takes everything the Forman's have to scrape by. There are no extra days off or family vacations like on the Brady Bunch. There are two jobs and the hope of overtime and rationed dinners with double gravy on everything just so it doesn't seem so small. Then there are the two guys in the basement who smoke grass all day and watch tube. I work part-time at a high school kids job just so I have enough money to drink. I realize how much I really have now and just how much I have at stake. Eric's parents are mine and his house is my house. I wear his socks and his old winter coat and I go everywhere he goes and do everything he does, and it's like a dream come true that I could have just that. It would devastate me to lose any of it, but if I ever had to watch him lose it - there are no words. I'd rather die.

I look over and see Eric is sleeping, so I wipe my feet on his head a couple of times because I want to and he can't stop me. Sadly, he doesn't notice at all. Light pours from between the curtains, meaning I've been thinking depressing thoughts all night. I close my eyes and try to will myself to sleep, but it seems like only minutes pass before I wake to Eric's nightmare. I get up and dig through my clothes pile for rolling papers, looking for our favorite distraction, because his bad dreams are mine.

He complains that his stomach is cramped up, so I lay the weed on him and promise it will help, though speaking from personal experience, it never does. We lie side by side and smoke together and then he says the words I knew would come.

"I think I'm going to tell my mom."

"Tell her what, that you were robbed by a hooker? For G-d's sake, Forman, let your mother live in denial. She has a fit every time you go to the bar."

"Something happened, but I don't remember. Tell me what it is."

"Nothing happened. Leo says you mixed quaaludes and vodka. You're just going to feel like shit for a few days, but then everything will be fine. Just go back to sleep, man."

"I can't."

I take the last drag and pull the blanket all the way up to our necks, singing to him slowly and very quietly. _All our times have come ... but now they're gone ... and we can be like they are._ He goes back to sleep, so I hold him for just a little while, because I want to and he can't stop me. Soon I'll sleep, too.

:)

To be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) The Roundabout by Yes, 1971  
:) Gimmie Shelter by The Rolling Stones, 1969  
:) The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult, 1976


	2. Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
by Jennifer Ryan  
01/10/06

:)

**Seasons don't fear the Reaper**

The afternoon finds me at Leo's, where I go when in need of grass or a mystical vision. I place Donna's old, plastic pool in the middle of the floor and fill it part way, figuring Leo must still be asleep. I put on coffee, then busy myself with the strategic placement of candles, excited for Benny to like his new home. If I can gain favor with the benevolent pond fish G-d, surely all the answers I seek will be revealed to me. But I refuse to touch his slimy, over sized form, so I'll have to wait for Leo to move him. As the coffee brews, I close my eyes and try hard to clear my mind, singing to myself that we can be like they are. _We'll be able to fly._

Clearing the mind of one's current problems and worries is the hardest part of meditation, and the only way I'm able to settle in is to fixate on an old memory or image. I select the day I met Leo in the park. He was there with Jesus and his shepherd dog, Penny, the only blonde he could ever get to hang around with him. I was seven years old then and he taught me the art of meditation using a combination of techniques he'd learned from the Buddhists, Hindus and Sikhs he associated with in college and at retreats. He does it to get closer to G-d and achieve enlightenment, but it's peace that I am seeking. I don't bother with formalities like posture, which irritates Leo to no end, because he claims if the spine isn't straight, nothing groovy can flow. Using an over stuffed beanbag for a pillow, I lie on the floor next to the pool and slow stretch my limbs while deep breathing. The single-minded concentration relaxes me and frees me from the unhappy and distracted state I've been stuck in, allowing me to focus on the true, simple things for which my heart is so desperate. I want Eric to love me back. I want his parents to accept it. I want no one to think twice about such a thing or even care - in other words, I want a miracle.

As I feel myself drifting, I picture Eric and me together. My vision is hazy, but in it I'm looking down into his eyes, though he's as tall as I. I know it's not real because I'm neither embarrassed nor nervous and he's not freaked out completely. Our eyes are locked in unbreakable connection, at standstill until I can figure out what to say. I love how we're able to hold our own with each other, to never back down. He puts his arms around my neck and asks if I've any dreams to tell. I pull his body closer to mine and delight in my dream Eric, always the smooth operator. I open my mouth, eager to declare my undying love and lewd desires and though he's surprised, he's not afraid at all. He even yields to me and I cover his body with kisses until he falls back, taking me with him. One hand covers my cheek and the other tangles in my hair and he looks into me like no other ever has, with such absolute trust and adoration. I kiss him, but something seems off and makes it difficult to concentrate. I begin to feel doubtful, suddenly sure that in real life Eric would have to trip over the sofa to ever land in my arms.

When I meditate, my visions are often a pastiche of beauty and strangeness, but never filled with negative feelings and apprehensions. Though I've grown stronger in my ability to single out individual emotions and yearnings, the fact that a splashing sound interrupts it only serves to demonstrate how much I've yet to learn. I open my eyes to find Leo burning incense. He hands me a mug of coffee and extends Benny's heartfelt thanks for his new home, promising that I can ask him anything.

Benny circles his new digs slowly, breaking the surface to eat the dried cereal pieces Leo offers him. I yawn and notice it's dark outside now, meaning I actually slept and dreamed. "That's why you're not supposed to meditate lying down, man. You fall asleep."

I tell him I wasn't asleep, but he informs me that I was snoring and he had to put Dr. Zhivago in the yard because he wouldn't stop barking at my wad. Alright, so I fell asleep.

Leo passes me the "ceremonial" bong - the green one with the dragon on it - and never one to be ungrateful, I accept. I eye the other bongs locked in his armoire as I greedily inhale my share, coveting the sole pipe I've not yet been allowed to use. She's quite an artful object, actually; tall and blue in the form of a naked woman. Leo told me the name he gave her once, but I no longer remember it. She does little more than taunt me from the security of her display. I used to fantasize that if I ever got married, Leo would pull it out of the cabinet and we'd have one vicious celebratory circle. I realize, sadly, there is a better chance that Leo and the gang will pull it out before my funeral. Accepting that I'm forever doomed to use the dragon bong, I blow the smoke toward Benny and speak to him on a psychic level, asking him to make my vision come true. Not only doesn't he answer, he doesn't acknowledge me in any way. I guess you have to lace the pot with angel dust before you can get those sort of results.

Leo sets the bong next to him and looks at me so seriously, it's almost unnerving. "You know what sounds good, man. French toast."

It pains me to even think this, but I'm pretty sure french toast will never sound good again. I'm starting to worry that maybe nothing ever will. "Leo, I'm thinking about taking off."

"No, you're not. You'll never leave the Forman's, man."

"Yeah," I pass him the bong. "Well, what do you know about it?"

He smiles at me like the total dickhead he is. "Plenty. I know plenty."

"If you know so much, you think Eric will go with me?"

He pours a little of the bong water into the pool and watches Benny investigate it, finally deciding that Forman would never follow me anywhere - not in a million years. "But you should still ask. I mean, don't just take my word for it."

"Leo, man, I have never taken your word for anything and I promise I won't start now."

"Whoa, that's a really good policy. I wish I had one of those."

"Yeah, well, you work on it. I'm going home to check on Eric. Tell Benny I'll be back when he's in the mood to deal with me."

I close the door and Leo sounds almost bereft when he asks Benny, "Why'd you have to shine him on, man?"

I'd never really leave here, though I like to think about it. Or, I'd never really leave here without him. These past few years - having a home, a family and my own stuff - it's more than I ever imagined.

Jackie could leave. Her father is in prison and her mother's a conceited bitch who tends to forget she has a daughter. Donna could leave because her parents have money and love her from afar in Sunday evening telephone conversations. I can't leave because Eric and his parents are all I have in the world and life is too short to not be together. It doesn't hurt that Mrs. Forman makes waffles and bacon on Saturday mornings; waffles with chocolate chips on them just for me.

I almost hesitate to count Leo since he now has Benny. For all I know, the two of them are spread out across their living room floor right now, smoking my weed and listening to my Zeppelin albums. And this is what's wrong with me: I'm actually obsessing about whether or not a monster sized, reefer addicted, Buddhist goldfish has taken my place in Leo's heart. The ghost of Edna's selfish voice tells me I'm pathetic if they are really all I have.

I park behind the Toyota and before I can switch off the ignition, I hear beautiful music and pause, talking along with it more than really singing. _Spanish Harlem are not just pretty words to say._

I wish I knew the words to say, the magical ones that would make him understand what my heart wants my mind to tell him. It's so easy with music, its beautiful lyrics as charming as nonsensical, yet understood with so little difficulty.

_Until you've seen this trash, can dreams come true._

I've seen a life time of trash, so much I never thought I'd know anything else. Things would be better if I could work up some nerve. I need the courage to sit Eric still and say, or pull him to me and demand, or scream it across a room, or spray paint it on his dad's garage. If I was ever so bold, he would probably avoid speaking to me for the rest of our lives. His dad would call me a queer, his mother would be disappointed, and his sister - as if challenged - would double her efforts to seduce me, then discard me like everything else she's used up.

If I stay, I'll drive myself even crazier and maybe even ruin Eric's life. If I leave I'll only destroy myself. No matter how much meditation I devote to this issue, I see no way to come out of the situation a winner. It's much more likely what will happen is that I will lose everything I have, and I already know that I will never have anything this good, ever again.

I back out of the driveway as if I'd never made it home. I need to drive a while longer; to think a little more and listen to my music. I need to figure out a way to live with all of this and if I can't do that, then I need to drink until I lapse into a coma. I push my eight-track into the player so I can hear the words which I become lost in easily and which allow me to block out the entire world without fail.

_All our times have come._ This whole situation is fucking ridiculous. I used to fantasize that the minute I turned eighteen everything would suddenly be perfect. Forman and I would toss our clothes into a pillow case and just take off, man, because we'd be eighteen and no one would care what we did.

_Here but now they're gone._ Eighteen was this big magic number in the distance that felt like it would never come, maybe that's why I thought my goal would be so easy to attainable. I had these stellar plans that revolved around a year of new beginnings and when Donna split I figured it was a sign from G-d. It was Eric and me, maybe in Florida or California, on the beach and free. It was the happy, yielding Eric from my vision, not the real life one who would probably just be pissed.

_Seasons don't fear the reaper._ Nowhere in my dreams were blackmailing whores and the things they might have done to both of us. Things to which I'll never admit and hopefully Eric will never remember.

I can be a bad guy, but I've never wanted anyone dead. I've wanted to hit and knock out and humiliate and hurt so badly it consumed me as a burning, hateful lust. So many times in my life, I've wanted to do these things, but never to kill. Right now, I'd like to find those three whores and their boyfriends and slowly murder each of them. I don't realize I'm doing 85 mph until I slam into Kelso's van.

_And we can be like they are._

:)

**Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters**

In retrospect, a serious head injury was exactly what I needed today and my only regret is that Kelso didn't join me. I do take solace in the fact that I fucked up the passenger door on his van. I lean into the sofa and press a bag of frozen lima beans to my forehead, laughing not because we're poor and I'm using the expensive beans as a compress or because I put a serious dent in my friend's car, but mainly because I'm an asshole and I deserve this. As much fun as I'm having watching him freak out, I do feel a slight disappointment that I didn't solve all my problems by flying through the windshield. I know that's a horrible thing to think, but I'm not much in the spirit of giving a damn these days.

"Sorry about your van, Kelso. If it makes you feel any better, you broke the tuner knob off my radio and busted a headlight."

"I guess I do feel a little better, yeah." He throws himself down next to me and slings his arm over the back of the cushion. "But man, the van is totally trashed now."

"A smashed door won't keep you from getting laid and that's all you use it for. Hey, maybe you can tell Noreen you did it drag racing. That'll turn her on."

"Noreen was three days ago, I'm after Chelsea now. Yeah, drag racing! Hyde, you're like, the best friend ever."

It warms my heart that he would actually thank me for busting his toy, not only confirming my belief that funny things do happen to stupid people, but they happen to Michael Kelso twice as much.

I close my eyes for a quick second and begin to drift, startled a moment later when Kelso yells _BOOM KABBAM!_ in my ear. Eric has come up behind me and Kelso is describing our collision in exaggerated detail, as if it is suddenly the coolest thing he's ever experienced. Eric places his hand on my shoulder and asks if I'm OK, so I nod.

He looks a hell of a lot better today; not pale and shaky or sick and sad. Things are looking up after all; maybe I'm lucky to be alive and just don't realize it yet. He's concerned for me, so I show him the big bruise on my head and assure him that I didn't even break my glasses. I figure Eric is the type to be impressed by an injury, even just a little bruise, and I secretly hope he kisses it. After all, Kelso's stupid drag race story is likely to get him unlimited muff all week long, so the least I can hope for is a little sympathy.

"So," he smiles and takes the place beside me, "did you hit Kelso's van on purpose?"

"Nope, I accidentally hit it before I had the chance to do it on purpose." I hope I sound resigned and not shaken, angry that I can't drive down the street without getting lost in my own head. I can't let things affect me. The world around me counts on my ability to maintain in any situation, despite the severity of the freak out.

"Are we OK?"

The question surprises me and I struggle for a believable reply. "I'm great, but you're going to be fucked up for quite some time." My smile fades as I realize he's too tired to bother with a come-back. I think to myself how sorry I am. I'm so sorry I wasn't watching out for you.

Fez comes down the stairs and sits between Eric and I, cramming his body where it doesn't belong and crossing his legs like a lady. "So gang, what are we all doing tonight?"

"Well, I was thinking I'd hold you down and let Forman kick your ass." He looks at both Eric and myself, dejected little pout firmly in play, and asks if it is true. Kelso reaches over and frogs me, claiming that I'm an insensitive person. He ruffles Fez's hair and promises we'll have a circle instead.

Eric falls asleep while we set up the table with all the necessary supplies, so we each take a beer and our seats, rambling on about the trivial events that made up our day. Only after my third toke does it dawn on me that I've been burned by Kelso. "I'm insensitive? Fuck you, man, you're insensitive."

He laughs at me, ignoring the insult completely, and continues chattering. "Heh, OK. I'm not lyin'. This one time I got drunk, OK, and I farted really bad and I pooped my pants." He leans close to accent his point, "It happened!" He is so unbelievably fucking wasted that he's starting to make perfect sense. I say that level, attainable to few, is Zen."

I pass the joint to Leo, who I just realized is here. He nods to Kelso in agreement and says as if it is a matter of fact, "I did that a couple of times, man, but I wasn't drunk."

When it's my turn for a drag, I volunteer that I've never actually crapped myself, but am more than willing to learn. Fez rolls his eyes at me in disgust and swears that if any of us does that here, he is prepared to kill. I chuckle, silently and to myself, at Fez's delicate sensibilities. You'd think that foreign people don't break wind, but I've noticed sophistication is important to them. Wouldn't mind getting a little culture and sophistication for myself, actually, but only if I don't have to give up farting the theme song for _The Flintstones_.

Kelso runs his fingers through his hair repeatedly, as if bewitched by his own bangs, and tells me I need more fiber. "If you're mother hadn't been a whore, she probably would have made you eat beans. You're lucky she took off."

Leo is shocked, as usual, "No way, man, your mom took off? Do you need a place to stay?"

"Leo, she ditched me almost three years ago."

"Wow, I thought I just saw her upstairs. I'll be honest with you, man, sometimes I have hallucinations. That's why I quit drinking." I pass the roach to Kelso and sigh, warning Leo that I doubt alcohol was ever his problem.

"Oh wait," Kelso flies out of his chair, "speaking of alcohol - this one time I got drunk and when I farted, I totally crapped my pants. It's a true story!" When I remind him that he just told us that, he looks blankly at me and says, "... told you what?"

I hit him in the arm as hard as I can, because I really, really like to. Dillhole. "So Fez, while I'm nice and mellow you want to tell me what you did to my El Camino the other night."

"I don't know what you mean. I did not notice the strange smell."

"HA! You admit it. Fez, what the hell did you do?"

"You and Eric left Fez all alone, so I simply took the El Camino to troll for pudding, as you taught me."

Kelso's laughter is odd, because he's as confused as the rest of us, but isn't sure if it's just him, as usual. A light bulb appears over my head and I choke on my beer. "Merciful G-d, man! Do you mean _trolling for pussy_?"

Everyone looks at him and we all know damn well Fez cannot be put on the spot - he can't take it. Instead of sweating profusely or pleading an ignorance of the language, he changes the focus of the conversation, not intending to stick a knife in my gut. "Speaking of pudding; Michael, did Steven not tell you about the Polish whores with whose acquaintance he made without _US_!"

Kelso jumps out of his chair, knocking it backwards. "Whores? Hyde, man, you're holding out!"

"Sit your ass down, Kelso. It's not like you've never been with a whore before." My smile is large as I announce, "Laurie Forman is their queen."

He grins and attempts to nod, which is clumsy and overly exaggerated. "But wait, Laurie's not Polish! Don't change the subject. I've slept with every foreign exchange students at our school; French, West German, British, Mexican - not one single Polish girl."

Fez shifts Kelso's attention from me as unthinkingly as he directed it. "I am a foreign exchange student. You have not slept with me, you son-of-a-bitch."

Kelso knocks Fez to the floor and attempts to frog him to death, and as much as I would normally enjoy watching, I've only to open the basement door and guide them out. The last words I hear are from across the driveway; Kelso's grim reminder that he hasn't forgotten what we talked about tonight. Dillhole.

:)

To be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult  
:) Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters by Elton John


	3. Blinded by the Light

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
by Jennifer Ryan  
02/21/06

:)

**Teenage Diplomat**

I don't look forward to breakfast anymore, there are too many topics I hope to avoid. Red ignores us over his newspaper and coffee, gracing us with silent disinterest, because that's what a real man does. Rarely does he deviate from his routine, even when Eric and I discuss Laurie's whoring and try to calculate how much money it fetches her. The only subject known to rouse him from the sports page is Mrs. Forman's insistence that he pay us boys mind.

He'll glare over the edge of the periodical to make a brief statement or query, such as _I see you boys are still living here rent free. Got jobs yet? Are you two drunk again?_ If we are truly fortunate, he'll glorify the military and offer to sign us up. Today he doesn't bother, because I know he can tell something is wrong. Even Kitty is quieter than usual; a little careful and almost formal. It's not tension exactly, but it's not comfortable.

Kitty pours me a glass of orange juice and tells Red she found some interesting pictures in the mail this morning. My heart pounds hard and quick and I feel the blood rushing to my head, which is rapidly intoxicating. She says it naturally, in a manner so nonchalant that it provokes every insecurity I've ever had. Red pushes aside his reading in anticipation and I try to speak, but can't remember how. I'm sure I'm about to pass out when she hands him school yearbook pictures of Eric's cousins in Florida. The backs are labeled Judith Victoria at age thirteen and Jennifer Anne at ten. Mrs. Forman makes some fond remark about one of the girls getting her period and I draw in a deep breath and tear off a piece of my waffle, feeling stupid.

Kitty focuses on solely on me, at least that's how it feels, and asks if I am well. "You and Eric both ... are you boys sleeping alright?"

Still shaken, I look up from my mangled breakfast with no idea what to say. I try to move my mouth but no words will come, and though it's unfair, I can't help but to think that if she really loved me, she would just know.

I can't do this, man. I will never be able to do this. I'd planned to spend this summer telling Eric all about how much I love him, but I was waiting for him to stop smarting over Donna and now I've waited too long. Even if he wanted to listen, I've ruined everything by dragging him off to that filthy, damn bar. I only wanted to get him out of the house and have a little fun, get him drunk and have him all to myself, not pull him down with me and cover him in the shame I've spent my entire life drowning in. What kind of boyfriend could I be to him now, other than a worthless one who allows him to be hurt? I hate myself for such failure and am crushed by the realization that the happy forever that once stretched out before me isn't so long as I once thought it would be.

Pushing away from the table as quietly and carefully as I'm able, I excuse myself with a mumble that only garners the attention I've been trying to avoid. I exit the kitchen, leaving the sliding glass door open behind me. When I get behind the wheel of my car, I notice my hands are shaking and that my entire body trembles in sad anticipation of the coming storm. All of my sweet and wonderful _one magical day_ plans are trash like I am, and every bit as far gone. Eric and his mother watch me from the kitchen door, bewildered by my behavior. I pull out of the driveway, realizing they probably didn't know anything was wrong until I lost my cool. It begins to sprinkle a cold, dreary rain that only makes me feel worse.

Every thing that Leo told me is right, it must be. Those hookers did things to us and they're going to want money - soon. Nothing I can do will ever stop them; nothing short of murder. I drive aimlessly at first, then return to the scene of the crime, anxious to find out what these people want before they show up on our doorstep and destroy our lives.

:)

**Revved Up Like A Deuce**

It's well passed late when I sneak in, but Eric's in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal with milk. I was positive he'd be in bed - so sure I could avoid any potentially uncomfortable conversation. I'm standing in the doorway with no idea what to say to him when he looks up at me, quiet at first and then acknowledges me with a simple _hi_. I manage a grin, my heart warm to know that I can always count on my sweet one to throw me a life saver made of lead should it be apparent that I'm drowning. Sighing, I sit beside him and ask what he's eating. He tells me it's krispie puffs mixed with honey, which I watch him pour directly on his spoon.

Though we're not arguing, it's obvious there's something sad or unsaid looming over us. Eric has spent the last several days sick with what his mother suspects is the flu. She brings him chicken soup and carbonated soda, convinced he needs only to sleep until the germ is gone. She feels my forehead, too, ready to spring into action at the slightest sniffle or cough. But I ignore her attention, too focused on my role as the guardian of secrets. If those people really gave him drugs of some kind, surely they are out of his system by now. I'm not so stupid as to think this will all blow over us with no consequences, I'm just childish enough to hope it will.

I yawn and remind him it's late, a fact of which he's well aware since he's spent the last several days sleeping until nightfall. He notices that I smell like an ashtray, his way of reminding me to wash my clothes before his mother finds them. I'm sure he can figure out I've been sitting at the bar most of the night.

"Fez came by looking for you. He wanted to apologize for something."

I become still and wait, but he adds nothing. "Did Fez say what he was sorry about?"

"He said you would know. Maybe it had something to do with the other night." I lose my breath for a moment, making an idiot of myself by asking what he could possibly mean. I damn how my own stupidity is constantly failing me. Eric knows I don't like talking about shit; knows damn well the words are not inside of me.

"Those hookers did more than rob us and you know it. They hurt us, they did something ... are you going to make me say it?"

I kneel in front of him and shake my head slowly, taking his face in my hands. The silence is terrifying and intense, like the still that precedes a thunderstorm, and he demands to know if I would have ever told him. I draw in a long unsteady breath and shake my head again. He looks like he wants to cry but doesn't, because he's stronger than anyone gives him credit for. He's stronger than I am; better in every way. Instead he slugs me and he leaves the room.

I sit in the middle of the kitchen floor wondering what to do now, other than to wash the dishes he's used. Dishes and laundry all in one night. Crap.

If Eric and I are ever going to be together I need to accept that, in lieu of conversation, he may occasionally need to slap the hell out of me. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make if it means we don't have to analyze our feelings. I've never really grasped the feminine need to dwell on things that are simple. It seems the problem with women is that either their feelings always change or they always want them to change, which surely involves hormones or some other strange and far-out thing I can't possibly understand.

Jackie's feelings changed continually, as if they were something she hadn't the ability to control. She wasted so much time trying to change our relationship, when it would have been easier to work at maintaining it. I was a fool to think that Jackie and I could ever last long or be happy together, because no matter how much I cared for her, she needed more all the time. As soon as I met one demand, another would arise and I know she didn't always do it on purpose, but it didn't matter.

She had as many problems as I, and as they began to mount I pictured her in my mother's place. After all, even Edna had to start somewhere. She was just a young, unhappy girl when I was born and only a few years older than Jackie. Would Jackie drink like Edna did? Would she spiral downward in a desperate gambit to mask the multiple disappointments of every day life?

I knew I would never be able to please her and give her the things she needed to have, like the stability and devotion that had not only to be lavished, but showcased.

I don't understand why feelings should be in a constant state of evolution. Love is love. I say what I feel and I've only to say it one time. _I love you. You're my whole world and that will never change, not as long as I'm alive._

I wonder if my understanding of love is really so different from that of other people. If you love someone, you bust your ass to make their life better and they do the same for you. You provide for their stability and safety and are rewarded in kind. You don't shop around for other things to feel and you don't grow apart. Maybe that's what is wrong with this whole messed up world - too many waste time dreaming about finding someone better than they do treasuring the one they've chosen already.

Eric doesn't push me; not like Jackie did with her constant demands. I'm grateful for how much she taught me about love and what I don't want, because it helped me to recognize the things that are my heart's desire.

I want someone who is kind to me and let's me be kind in return, someone who loves me unconditionally so that I can still fuck up badly on a regular basis - at least once a week. I dream about a person I can take care of without a big presentation and who wants to have sex at least five times a day. I want Eric, who doesn't judge me and only makes fun of me when it's completely necessary. I want my partner in crime, my soul mate and idiot beloved, who always notices my feelings, recognizes the insecurities in my heart, and knows exactly what I want without requiring that I beg.

Eric and I can't get married, but he is mine and one way or another, I will spend the rest of my life with him. I'll do what is necessary to ensure his happiness and he'll love me like in my dreams. Our fantasies will revolve around what kind of car we are going to buy or how drunk we'll get on our big vacation. Important _Hyde and Eric_ stuff; events of earth shattering importance.

I leave the dishes dirty and trudge up the stairs to his bedroom, dropping my denim jacket on the floor somewhere along the way, because I'm kind of drunk and it's kind of hot in here. I can't believe it's almost October and it's so damn hot all the time, though it's probably just the fifteen beers warming me. My shoes make too much noise so I lose them, one by one, as quietly as I can, which is not that quiet since I feel a little clumsy. I stand at Eric's half open door and drink in the sight of my sweet one curled into a ball under a field of flannel plaid blankets and spiderman sheets.

Princess Leia greets me from high atop her shelf and I take her tiny plastic body in my hands, gracing the crown of her tiny head with butterfly kisses.

"I don't want to talk to you, Hyde. Go fuck off and die ... or something equivalent."

"I'm not Hyde," I say as I stumble toward him. "I'm Darth Vader and I've got your girlfriend."

His arm appears from under the blanket, reaching out to take her away, and I promise that she didn't just surrender to me. "Don't be mad. She fought like hell." He hits me repeatedly as I crawl over his body to lie down behind him in the bed, looking both amused and disgusted - something I know I can work with. His sweet Princess covers him in butterfly kisses and I warn that the Rebel Alliance will fall tonight. He grabs her by the head and flings her across the room.

"You did the right thing. She's fucking your GI JOE." I hear his breath catch, like he doesn't know whether to be angry or laugh. I reach across and under him so that he's wrapped in my arms and leaning into me, relieved when he doesn't appear surprised. I tell him she was just a gold digger with little interest other than the fashion accessories that are any doll's desire. "She wanted Barbie's pink car and her stupid Afghan hound, but you wouldn't give it to her. You held out, because you knew there was someone better."

"I suppose you're drunken ass is going to tell me that you would be better."

"I'm not that drunk, Forman."

"Then quit blowing in my damn eye, Fonzie."

I feel my entire body flush with embarrassment and laugh so I can't catch my breath, thrilled when he does the same. I search for and find his ear, blow lightly, and tell him "I love you. You're my whole world and that will never change, not as long as I'm alive."

He turns to see me, still allowing me to hold him, and says seriously that if I'm going to sleep with him in the big boy bed, I need to shut up and close my eyes. I vow to behave, squeezing him to me as tightly as he'll permit, and notice that he smells like honey. Maybe I'll tell him that one day.

:)

**Blinded by The Light**

I don't do shit Thursday nights except watch _Barney Miller_ and _Welcome Back Kotter_. Everyone in this house knows that. Used to be either Donna or Jackie would bust in with one of her stupid, self-created dramas and piss me off, but that's not a problem anymore.

It's really quiet in the basement these days, almost to a frightening degree. If Red's not working, he closes himself off from the world by reading in his den. Mrs. Forman plays bridge at Cindy Mailer's house and if Fez whines enough, he gets to go with her. I used to think it was hilarious the way he'd trail after her, begging for attention, until he told me his mom died when he was five.

I also know his real name is Fernando Eduardo - or Eduardo Fernando - and when he was a little boy the Peace Corp brought water lines to his village and taught English there. His father had been an engineer, a young Dutchman who lived and worked in Argentina and Venezuela and had been disinherited for taking a wife his family found unacceptable. He died before Fez was born, so his mother took what little the family had left, which was mainly each other, back to Venezuela. She married Mr. Zayas so her children would not be orphans, then a few years later she died, too.

Eventually, an uncle from Amsterdam tracked them down and Fez and his sisters went to their family in the Netherlands. From what he told me, I don't think he was happy to be separated from his step-father, the only father he ever knew. Though in Europe he had a large family, people with some serious status and money, he seems to have absolutely no interest in either.

I don't think he's ever told anyone else that stuff. Funny how those around us only notice what we want them to see. Sad how we hide so much that's important.

Eric comes down the stairs and I urge him to be quick. "I think this is the episode where Wojo gets an STD."

He flops down on the couch next to me, promising that he can't wait. For the first time since Donna left he seems animated - maybe even happy. I'm not sure if he was upstairs masturbating or playing with his action figures, but I guess it doesn't matter if it makes him feel better. He wipes the sleepy stuff out of his eyes and claims he's sorry that he hit me. I blow it off with a shrug and tell himthat I'm sorry Kitty found us in bed together.

"And?"

"And I'm sorry I manhandled the princess."

"And?"

"And I'm sorry I didn't call you honey sooner." He seems taken aback, which shouldn't surprise me. It's hard for me to say these things seriously. I've been damaged and humiliated and he knows that better than anyone.

The thing about Eric is he has always made every allowance for me and never fails to find a way to accommodate my bullshit. I've always taken that to mean he loves me, too.

"We've danced around this subject for years, Forman. Did you think I was just being a smart ass? You know I love you best, don't you?"

He doesn't really say anything, but lays his head against my shoulder and hugs my arm. I like this kind of stuff a lot, maybe because I've never had it before and it's my heart's singular desire.

I wonder where Edna is right now, not that it really matters. I hope she's happy and that she found a man to fulfill her and even a friend or two. The realization is like a light blinding me; I couldn't care less if I ever see her again in my life. I'm exactly where I want to be; not just with someone who I love, but with someone who does love me back.

"And?"

"And what, Forman? What!"

"Did you mean the things you said to me last night or was it drunk talk?"

I assure him it was both and that that will never change. He smiles, hugging my arm even harder, and lets me kiss the tip of his nose. I find the nerve to ask why he's not freaking out about any of this. Smiling, he announces that he spent most of the day pretending to sleep and the last forty minutes playing with himself in the shower. I chuckle and he admits he was stalling until _Barney Miller_ was over so we could talk.

He notices my frown and clarifies that he can talk and all I have to do is nod yes or no, which is one of the reasons I love him so much. I smooch him just once, but real good, and point to the tube. We relax together a while, listening to Mr. Kotter's idiotic uncle joke of the week.

:)

to be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) Blinded by the Light by Bruce Springsteen or Manfred Mann's Earth Band (M.M.'s cover kicks WAY more ass)


	4. Another Runner in the Night

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
Jennifer Ryan  
08/18/2006

:)

**Another Runner in the Night**

I wake with a hell of a start, my heart in my throat and a Tab cola spilled all over the place. The details of the nightmare have faded already; far beyond my grasp, but still affecting me. I stretch for a moment, trying to get motivated. Last night I had a plan, but not a sheet of paper, so I organized it mentally along with a list of tools required for its execution. Today is the first day of the rest of my life, so the saying goes, and the first visit I make today will be the FotoHut.

I'm freshly showered and almost out the door when Red calls my name. I freeze briefly, then turn so he can look me over good. His eyebrows scrunch together and I can tell he's trying hard to figure out where I got a dress shirt and why I'm wearing it. "Steven, did you shave?"

"Uh-huh.

"And comb your hair?"

"Yes."

"And is that cologne?"

"Close, it's some of Mrs. Forman's perfume."

"Well, well," he seems impressed until reality slaps him. "Oh dammit, you're not going to court, are you?"

I smile because I'm happy to announce, "I've got a job interview."

"Job?" He's in a state of shock and repeatedly utters the words in stunned disbelief and complete awe. "Steven. Job."

I laugh a little, uncomfortable not only because I'm wearing brown double knit slacks and a matching tie, but also because I appear to have rendered him stupid. He reaches for his wallet and pulls out a five for gas money, which I refuse, and which makes him smile proudly. We exchange grins and as I near escape, Kitty joins us from the kitchen and catches sight of me.

"Oh, honey," she throws her arms around me, "don't you just look sharp!"

I roll my eyes and smile as she squeezes me and bounces excitedly. "Yeah, I bet you didn't expect to see me awake before eleven a.m., did you?"

"Oh, you're all dressed up like a little business man," she gushes, grabbing my cheeks and tugging them in impossible directions. "Your such a handsome young ..."

"Kitty, for G-d's sake, he's going on a job interview." Red's interjection allows my escape and as I run to my car, I remind myself that this is exactly why I don't like to shower. These people are nuts and they notice things like that immediately.

By the time I hit Western Avenue, Jim Croce is on my radio and I'm secretly thrilled. This song makes me think of Eric and I try to figure a way to bring it up to him one day without it seeming too staged, because I've been through all his weird ass Rush albums and none of those songs fit how I feel about anything ... ever.

I have my own key to the FotoHut because I still help Leo out from time to time, like today. Today I'm helping myself to his top secret emergency stash. I dig into a half empty container of decaffinated coffee - something no one would ever touch - and pull out a plastic bag of joints. I take them all, afraid to leave any behind. Leo's going to find his ass in jail one day, selling right out of the drive in window. Man, do I ever sound responsible. I guess I know what can happen when you live life like you don't appreciate it, and sadly I know it in the worst way. It's not that I don't love the contents of this plastic bag, I do - always have - but for the first time ever, I feel strange about it. Fuck it, man. I think too much.

By the time I breeze through the front door of the Holiday Hotel, I feel like a kid again. The first thing I notice is that it's a lot nicer than I remember, much larger and definitely cleaner than I recall. Since I was seven years old, Edna practically had me living at this hotel and at times we were in and out on a daily basis. There was a span of about three months when we actually did live in one of the rooms, because her boyfriend at the time was the manager. But if she wasn't screwing the manager then it was somebody - anybody - else. If he had pot or pills or liquor, she was there and I was on the pull-out couch watching the tube.

I duck into the bathroom and am impressed it's been cleaned. I was so sure it would still be untouched, since Bobby Darrin took a shit here about five hundred years ago, or at least that's what Edna told me. I'm almost twenty minutes early for my interview, but I can see someone is excited and has decided to join me early.

"Mr. Hyde," he says in a well rehearsed manner as he checks under all the stalls. "Welcome to the Holiday hotel. I'm Mark, the day manager."

I slide off my shades and pull out a monster bag of pot. "Hi Mark, I'm your new best friend."

He laughs and hugs me, clapping me hard on the back. "Damn, it's been too long. I heard Edna took off."

"Yeah, she couldn't hack holding down a job, you know. It was beneath her." I remind myself that Mark does indeed know. Though he was only a high school boy when I met him, I've no doubt he put it to my mother repeatedly and in a variety of ways and strange places. She was more than any seventeen year old boy could ever handle and probably broke his heart into a million little pieces that didn't heal for a long, long while.

Though none of her behavior was my fault, I've lived my life feeling the same sting, because she didn't have to tell all those people that she loved them. It was always a game and she strung everyone along, even little old me.

"Oh hell yeah, I remember. So what do you think of the old place?"

I smile, "It has been cleaned!"

"We remodeled in '73. Too much factory money leaving the city. Owners decided that nobody should have to drive forty-five minutes to Kenosha just to eat french food and go dancing. Besides, the drugs were getting out of control, too much fighting, too many cops hanging around. Did you see the landscaping? My cousin Cliff helped with it, it's un-fucking-believable."

"Yeah, it's great." I toss him the bag of joints, which indicates it's time to get this job interview started. "So, this job comes with a free room?"

"I can't always guarantee the room - we all share it. Plus my buddy Rufus nails his sister-in-law there, if another room isn't available. He pays us in concert tickets, cause he gets like, twenty or so every time a big act hits Kenosha. Uses 'em to pay off debts or get laid. I can snag you a couple sets in trade for services rendered." He seems thoughtful for a moment and asks if I'm sure I want to be a waiter. "There must be more interesting jobs for a guy your age."

"Yeah well, I have a friend now, you know." I'm surprised to be blushing to such a furious degree and scuff the tile with my shoe. "I need to save up some money so we can get our own pad or something." He raises an eyebrow in astonishment and chuckles at me.

"Man, are you kiddin'?" He says it with a laugh, with light-hearted understanding, not the angry judgement I'm afraid lurks around every corner. "I never would have guessed, I mean, Edna's kid - boy she must have fucked up your mind something awful." He puts an arm around me and I find that I'm laughing in relief. "You tell your little friend you guys can start next Wednesday. Come on, as long as your here, let me get Roy, the kitchen manager. We'll show you the room we were talking about. We usually have our smoke breaks there."

:)

**When your trying to be so good**

I feel real good and real high - probably because Mark and Roy got me real good and high. It's like all the great things I never thought possible are beginning to fall into line. I go straight to the basement so I can tell Eric all about my big plans. He's going to be so excited; this is probably the most righteous thing that's happened to either of us in quite awhile.

In preparation for our celebration party, I stopped at the convenience store and picked up some rubbers, a bag of iced animal cookies and a six pack of Coors. I'm surprised to find Eric, Kelso, Fez and Leo having a circle without me. Each of them turn, whistling and laughing at my dress attire. Eric smiles the biggest and laughs the loudest as Fez tells me I'm just in time. He turns up the radio and Bob Dylan calls to each of us.

Leo takes his drag first and sings his part. "Well, they'll stone you when you're trying to be so good."

He passes it to Eric, who is higher than I've ever seen him, and looks like he's out of his fucking mind. "They'll stone you just like they said they would."

Fez skips his drag like usual, but says his line with a slurred accent that is hilariously more pronounced than usual. "Then they will stone you when you are trying to go home."

He passes the cigarette to Kelso, who is laughing so loud and maniacally that it unnerves me a little more than it probably should. Since he can't seem to stop, I take the joint out of his hand, have a quick drag,and sing for him. "They'll stone you when you're there all alone."

The five of us shout in unison, "But I would not feel so all alone, EVERYBODY MUST GET STONED!"

I look up the stairs, half expecting Red to yell. His car is in the driveway; oh wait, they must be having sex. They do that in the middle of the day when they don't think there are kids in the house. Heh. Man, if they only knew.

We stay in the circle and talk a long while, taking down an entire bag of salty potato chips, a box of popsicles, a jar of tiny sweet pickles and a loaf of wonder bread, all in what seems like a matter of minutes. Fez and Kelso scorf down my beer and animal cookies so fast that I don't realize it's happened until it's too late.

I think Kelso and Eric are worse off than I've ever seen them - red eyed and mad as hatters. They're really fucked up and I think about how easily one of them could be hurt. Fez just has the usual contact buzz and Leo's ever the same, and then I realize - I gave Mark all of Leo's stash.

"Leo, did you bring the pot?"

"Oh yeah, man. I must have gone through the stuff I kept at the hut. I got this from the Bertrand brothers."

I look at Eric and Kelso and see what it's done to them. They couldn't even walk down the street in this condition; anything could happen. This isn't the shit we usually smoke, it's patented Bertrand brothers hardcore smoke; no doubt laced with angel dust. "Is this the stuff you use all the time, Leo? What were you thinking! I can't believe you gave this to them?"

"Lighten up, Mr. Establishment. I've been using this stuff forever and it's perfectly safe in moderation."

"Yeah, Mr. Est - estab- estabilament, " Kelso laughs loud and long; beyond stoned.

Suddenly I'm a little faint. This is all my fault. Leo is my friend; I brought him here. Six years ago, I brought Edna's pot here. I brought drugs into this house. We were little kids and thought it was funny, even though it was pathetically weak crap that couldn't get anyone off terra-firma. At least not anyone but children. I never realized and now it's like a slap in the face to know that I'm no better than Edna or Bud. I'm no better than any of those bastards who used to stick it to my mother while I was locked in the bathroom or left outside.

Today was supposed to be a good day; the best day, our day. I pull the sunglasses out of my collar and slide them on because I'm afraid my eyes are starting to water. But I won't let myself cry, because it's not something I can ever do. Even if I am guilty. Even if I'm a monster.

"Dust is never safe, Leo, even in moderation," I say, but no one can hear me. No one notices my quiet freaking out, which is likely for the best. I need to cool off before a fight starts, even though I've only myself at whom to be pissed. I offer Fez my car keys if he promises that Leo will get home safely and he accepts, leaving Kelso and Eric in my charge. Neither of them realize they've gone, that it's just the three of us now. They're laughing and talking and living in a world isolated from reality.

I sit back and watch them, lighting a cigarette, something I almost never do anymore and certainly never do in the house. They are eighteen years old; I was six. I never thought much about it before but there are about a million ways a six year old can buy the farm while his mother's getting high with her boyfriend. He could fall and hit his head. He could drown. He could get hit by a car. He could drink poison. The neighbors German Shepherd could eat him. He could choke to death on a piece of candy, or fall down a hole, or ... I don't know. I run my free hand through my hair and think about the fact that all those same situations could happen to an eighteen year old just as easily.

While I'm lost in thought, Kelso crawls across the floor on his hands and knees and kneels next to me like a child. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"Are you in love with Eric?" He laughs, "Is it looooove?"

"Who the hell wants to know?"

Kelso becomes wide eyed and yells loud enough for the neighbors to hear. "Oh my G-d, Eric, Hyde doesn't recognize me. I think he's stoned!" They both laugh hysterically and I roll my eyes. He then proceeds to inform me that Eric wants a pizza and if I truly love either of them, I'll get four pies with everything but olives. Eric sits on the floor beside him and nods happily.

The house shakes from the rumble of distant thunder and we focus our attention on the half open door, waiting for the inevitable rain to fall. I close my eyes and filter out their wild laughing to hear Elton John on the radio. _Mercy I'm a criminal. Jesus, I'm the one._ I light another cigarette, thinking to myself that I couldn't agree more.

:)

to be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) Blinded by The Light by Bruce Springsteen  
:) I'll have to say I love you in a Song by Jim Croce  
:) Rainy Day Women by Bob Dylan  
:) Rotten Peaches by Elton John


	5. Golden Slumbers

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
by Jennifer Ryan  
06/05/07

:)

**Golden Slumbers**

I can be found directly south of the stars, where I am the most insignificant creature in G-d's creation; the most dispirited and definitely the most vincible. I decided to feel sorry for myself for awhile after Fez took Leo home, but babysitting a stoned Kelso and Eric made that quite impossible. Sneaking from our basement hideout, I slip quietly through the sliding glass door and am greeted by frigid winds and unnerving silence. I stand alone in the driveway, grateful for a few peaceful moments, trying hard not to feel so depressed.

Night has fallen, coming as it always does - as little more than an inevitability. I turn my gaze toward the darkening sky and fall in love with multiple shades of sapphire showered in stars. I wish for a moment that I were it's architect, that something so masterful was the result of my design. What I would give to be the brilliant magician - the artist who weaves the stars to the sky. Instead I am Steven Hyde, whose only claim to greatness is that I painted the word dickweed in blue flames on the side of my shop teacher's Chevelle.

Eric and Kelso have decided that I am a square whose singular goal is to bring them down by refusing to take them to The Hub for a cheeseburger and a milkshake. They don't seem to understand the meaning of words like "high flying" or "night in jail" or grasp simple concepts like "Red's foot in your asses." I drag the kidlets into the backyard to shoot baskets, hoping to keep them occupied until they can get straight. I toss the ball to Kelso repeatedly and it lands at his feet, which only causes him to laugh until he can no longer breathe. Eric lies in the grass to make a sloppy, ugly snow angel - an activity in which young Kelso is eager to participate. When I point out that snow angels require snow, they inform me that the lack of it will render these angels invisible. Morons.

Despite my efforts to distract them, neither has quit complaining about food, which - as long as we don't hit up one of our usual places- might not be a such bad idea after all. I need to keep them busy until the high wears off and for every minute they spend making snow angels on the lawn we run the risk of shattering Reginald and Katherine's delusions. So we walk to Chuck's pizza, a place few adults dare to enter and where little English is spoken.

It's owned by these brothers from Vietnam named Tuan and Thanh, and I'm ashamed to admit that despite the fact that one of them is an amputee bound to a wheelchair, I never remember who is who. The pizza isn't bad at all here, but in a prejudiced little town like this, the customer base is limited to people too young to be pissed about the war. In other words, when they moved in next to The Country Market and Kitty wanted to try a calzone, Red told her the place was run by slant eyes and the menu choices would no doubt be stuffed with lo mien noodles and stray cats.

Needless to say, the first time I came was with Leo, as he is free of such arrogances and a true cosmopolitan. In contempt of the hateful gossip about these young transplants, he marched into their shop and introduced himself and me as the Point Place Welcome Wagon and their new best friend. He handed them a fat rolled joint and despite the barrier in language and culture, we were now bonded to one another. We smoked the whole thing and the brothers spoke to Leo in their language, and I smiled as he nodded his head frequently, as if he really understood them.

That day a closed sign hung from their front door and smoke poured from the back, a tradition often repeated at the least likely of times. I remember carrying groceries home for Kitty and the other shoppers walking by wondered aloud what disgusting foreign concoction they could possibly be preparing, vowing never to find out. I almost dropped the grocery bags when Kitty paused in front of the building and wondered why that odd smell seemed so familiar.

I stuff the kiddies into a booth and turn out my pockets in hopes of some change for the jukebox, which Kelso scoops up greedily, challenging Eric to play American Pie as many times as possible. I grab three root beers from the cooler by the register, pausing to take in a calendar shot of a half-naked Asian girl. A voice from below screams something completely unintelligible and I turn to see the wheelchair bound brother behind me, hollering to his twin in mixed English and Vietnamese. "Thanh! PEPPPERONI CHEESE NOW!"

I smile at his effort to speak my language and am greeted by Thanh, who doesn't feel the need to remove the cigarette from his mouth as he scolds his brother for depressing people by being so visible. "Git in back room, asshole!" Much to my embarrassment and discomfort, Thanh apologizes to me and explains that cripples are bad luck. I sigh, feeling worse than I did when I got here; something I didn't realize was possible.

I hand him cash and order two sausage with extra cheese, which he repeats to his brother several times in both languages. Taun yells "PEPPERONI CHEESE, PEPPERONI CHEESE!" repeatedly, to which Thaun counters "SAUSAGE CHEESE, STUPID ASSHOLE, DAMMIT!"

I set the bottles on the table and sit across from the boys, watching them wage war with straw papers. They look out the picture window, laughing at stupid shit and each other, blissfully unaware of the fucked up world that spins around them. I retrieve our pizzas from the counter, pretending not to notice they are pepperoni instead of the sausage for which I asked. Kelso teaches Eric how to fold the pieces into a sandwich and cram them down his throat, but I ignore them, listening instead to the brothers fighting in the kitchen.

Thanh keeps it up with the "STUPID ASSHOLE!" references while Taun fights back in Vietnamese. I pick at my slice as they push through the door and past the counter, Taun's wheelchair moving as fast as it will go. He struggles with the front door as Thanh places two sausage pizzas in front of us. Kelso attacks the fresh pies, remarking that people talking in Vietnamese sounds just like Red yelling at Eric. Normally, I'd laugh at that, but Taun is sitting outside our window, arms stretched toward the sky, crying out to no one in particular, "WHY! WHY ... WHHHHHY!"

So much for keeping a low profile. I light a cigarette and tell the boys to finish eating fast, because I firmly believe just seeing that kind of shit is bad luck. I make Eric and Michael hold hands with me when we cross the street, amid the dirty looks of the passers-by not distracted by the crippled foreigner screaming at the sky, and drag them home as quickly as I can. Our journey is covered by the same stars I marveled at in wonder only hours ago, and I lament that the Heavens can be so overwhelmingly beautiful when the world is so sick.

Now that they've stuffed themselves and burned off a bit of energy, it's not hard to convince them to sleep. It's quiet and now and some of my anger has dissipated. I flip on the tube in the living room and rifle past crap until I find Johnny Carson, whose guests tonight are John Ritter and John Denver. Three great John's all in one place; I can't lose.

During the break, my eyes close for only a short second before I wake to find myself surrounded by frigid, rising waters. It feels more bizarre than shocking and I try to understand why this is happening. I open the front door and am quickly submerged in an ocean that reaches as far and as wide as I can see. In the distance a little head bobs around, so I swim closer to investigate and discover it is Jackie. She tries desperately to grab onto something, but the water washes her far from safe harbor. She cries out and the closer I get, the more panicked we both become. I take hold of her jacket and pull her closer, but suddenly she's not in it. I take a deep breath and dive, but do not find her until I surface. She's floating on a little raft with Donna and I can't believe my eyes as they wave excitedly and blow me kisses, drifting off into the distance.

The waters are rough and unbelievably cold, which makes it hard to maintain, but I do. When Red floats by and demands to know which of us morons left the faucet running, my first thought is to blame Eric - until I realize I don't know where he is. How could I be so stupid; watching out for him is my responsibility. A group of children splash nearby and I find myself drawn toward them. As I close in, it is clear that one of them is little me. Wow, little me with a little fro! Another is little Eric in feetie pajamas and he's being dunked repeatedly by little Kelso. Little Fez floats by and says menacingly, "You did not even know me when I was eight, you bastard, so stop dreaming of me."

Little Kelso shoves little Eric under water and holds him down too long, so I swim over and frog him in the arm. He drifts away, crying that he'll tell his mom on me, but I pay no attention. I reach down to save baby Eric, but when I pull him up he's grown. He puts his arms around my neck and smiles, looking goofy with too long hair plastered to his face. I kiss him lightly and embarrass us both when a gaggle of children, including another little Kelso and little Fez, begin laughing and taunting us.

Eric looks unsure. "Everyone will say we're crazy."

I tell him, "Everyone always has." He rests his head on my shoulder and holds on to me and I sing to him in a whisper, _Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry ... and I will sing a lullabye. _We float together for one comfortable moment of relief until he is pulled under in a violent rush. I dive and search to no avail, terror escalating with each passing second and coursing through me in a dizzying jolt. I dive and search without success, determined to retrive him or share his fate. G-d help me, he can't be far; I just held him in my arms. When I break the surface, Red is swimming away with him. I try so hard to follow, but children surround me and one of them grabs my hand and pushes it under water, where a million little needles stab into it. I hear them giggle and I wake.

Kelso and Eric are each on the floor next to the couch and Kelso is holding my hand in a bowl of ice water. Kelso tells Eric this will make me piss my pants - that it's probably even a scientific fact.

"The only fact is that I'm going to kick both your asses." They startle and scatter as I lunge, forcing me to chase them down and smack them both. Kelso crawls back to the basement, laughing his ass off, but I drag Eric back to the sofa with me. I lay a pillow in my lap and he falls down on it and lets me pet his hair. Once we hash out the details, this is how life will be all the time; quiet and nice. At least, I hope it will, because that's my dream.

"My mom said you had a job interview this morning."

"I did. I got jobs for us both at THE Holiday hotel."

He perks up immediately. "No shit?"

"None at all. We also get room 307 on most of our off nights and tickets to a concert next month."

I can't see his face, but I know he's smiling. "We have a hotel room?"

"The heating / cooling unit in 307 is broken so they don't rent it out. Oh, and some drug dealer got shot in the face there back in '71."

"Cool." He's very still and quiet and I can tell he's thinking hard. We really haven't had the opportunity to talk much about this, what with the being stoned thing and all the other stuff. This is a huge deal and it will mean a lot of changes, more so for him than me. "I'm worried."

"I know you're worried, but are you scared?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"You either think so or you know so." I feel him shrug against me,so I rub circles on his back. "Alright, what's the worst thing that can happen and if it happens, can you live with it?"

"My dad would disown me ... and tell me he hates me ... and that he wishes I was dead ... and then he'll shove his foot up my ass."

"That's crazy talk. He won't wish you were dead. He'll definitely stick his foot in your ass, though." He doesn't laugh or say anything and he's tense as a coil. "You're scrawny and you play with dolls; it won't be much of a shock." He still doesn't respond so I bring up the fact that his uncle Marty plays for the pink team. He looks up at me in confusion and I add, "Well, he's still alive isn't he? Not only did Red let him live, he also invites him over every Easter, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years Eve. Not once did I ever see evidence of a foot print anywhere near his ass."

"I feel confused, I guess. Wait, you looked at my uncle Marty's ass?"

_That's the spirit, kiddo._ "We've had a hard couple of months. We graduated. Jackie moved to Chicago with her aunt. Donna took off after her. Your dad had a heart attack; Fez married some whore."

"Hey, that whore is my sister!"

"Sorry. Fez married some _skanky_ whore.

"Thank you, that's better." He smiles and turns to face me. "I always thought we'd graduate and everything would be magically cool, you know. We would like - do these things and they would be really great and there'd be a lot of money and ... this stuff. At least we'll have low paying jobs at THE Holiday Hotel for the next sixty years."

He forces a smile, afraid we're doomed to follow his father's example of working hard and just scraping by. I understand his worries better than he might think. There's a whole world out there for each of us to face. It's different when you're a kid - no one expects much of you, other than for you to screw up. Then we hit the magic number eighteen and now we're on our own in too many ways. The world that once hosted an endless party is suddenly cold and a little frightening. When I'm forty, I won't think working in a hotel is a great job. I doubt I'll be proud of it when I'm thirty and probably even by next next year I'll be too embarrassed to admit it to anyone.

Maybe if we work hard and save, we can move to Madison in a year or two and he can go to school like he's always wanted. The world is changing so fast and we can't rely on the factories like our parent's generation did. With the economy in such dire straights, we're lucky to find jobs at all.

"I never pictured myself with a real job or a family of my own, but I always pictured my mom and dad there. I did kind of hope Laurie would be in prison or Alaska or something equally lame."

"No matter what ever happens, your parents aren't going anywhere. I know you can't see that now, but you will. They aren't Bud and Edna."

I smile and ask if I was a part of this generic future vision of his and he tells me that in his wildest dreams, I never left my corner of his basement. I stare off into space, trying to come up with a tactful way of posing a delicate question. "Listen Forman, do me a favor and don't bust my nuts, okay, man. If you don't want this, tell me now. I will learn to live with it."

He shoots up in surprise. "Does everything have to be decided tonight?"

"No, not everything; THIS. Just THIS."

"And what is THIS? Are you in love with me? Are we going steady? Are we married?"

I say "Yes, yes and yes," sounding a little angry without meaning to do so. He seems stunned and tells me there are a hundred things for us to work out. I cover his mouth with my hand to silence him. "Not tonight there's not. Tonight you do or you don't. Everything else will fall in line after."

He hesitates and stares at me too long, and just when I'm sure I've lost him, he kisses the hell out of me hard and I see stars.

:)

When I hit the kitchen, I find I'm the last to wake. Red is reading the paper, Mrs. Forman is cooking everything, and Kelso and Eric are eating pancakes and scrambled eggs.

Kitty fixes a plate for me and ruffles my hair. "I see three boys had a little slumber party last night. Why didn't you say anything? I would have made tacos."

"Oh, it's OK Mrs. Forman, Hyde bought us pizza." Kelso jams a giant folded pancake into his mouth and proudly proclaims, "I ate two whole pizzas myself!"

She giggles in that way she does when somebody, especial Kelso, says something stupid or inappropriate. "Well, isn't that just ... very nice."

Red folds down his paper and tells Kelso that pizza is just one of the many benefits of being gainfully employed. "Steven has a job, Steven get's a pizza. It's basic American economics."

"Correction," Eric raises his fork, "Steven AND Eric have jobs, thank you."

Red's expression goes from stunned disbelief to unbridled joy. Either that or he's having another heart attack. He hits the table with his fist and smiles, "I just knew that if you got off your lazy ass and put in an application, some idiot would hire you."

"Scoff if you will father," Eric smiles. "Get in a good laugh, because your ONLY son and his ... unkempt friend who just happens to live in the basement, are going to be waiters at the fanciest - and only - fine restaurant in the tricounty area. Needless to say we'll not only be looking down on people like yourself, but they'll surely give us a short list of French vocabulary words to 'bandy around', if you will."

"Hardy har har. As long as the two of you are out of this house and earning enough to get your own apartment, daddy is happy."

"Apartment!" Mrs. Forman grabs us both under our chins, "look at these sweet little faces; they're only eighteen."

Unfazed, Red replies, "You know, when I was eighteen I killed a man in war."

"Whoa ," Kelso says as if he's just realized, "if you guys got your own apartment we could really party!"

Red turns to him and asks Michael if he has a job. Kelso shakes his head and Red says, "Then get the hell out of my house."

I watch Eric eat bacon and think how great everything is working out. We talked for over three hours last night, all about new jobs and love and sex and nerves and being a family. I even let him tell me about the Star Wars holiday special he's waiting to watch next month. So help me, if he asks me to pretend I'm Han Solo, I'll fucking clobber him. The thought makes me smile. Eric's eyes meet mine and he smiles, too.

"Hey!" Red's hand waves in the air between us.. "Quit looking at each other like a couple of pansies; it's making me nervous." He returns to his morning paper, thankfully uninterested and blissfully unaware.

:)

To be continued ...

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) Golden Slumbers / Carry That Weight by The Beatles  
:) Blinded by the Light by Bruce Springsteen


	6. Running on Empty

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
by Jennifer Ryan  
08/25/07

:)

**Running on Empty **

We drive aimlessly, burning too much gas and playing the radio too loud. Our quest is to stay occupied, since our only night in a hotel room this week was wasted fumbling with our clothes. My arm's around Eric and he leans close, singing along with Jackson Browne and me. I try not to crack up when he asks me for the fifteenth time, "Are you mad?"

"I'm not mad, Forman."

"You look mad."

"I'm not mad," I explain in a patient voice uncharacteristic of me. "I'm sexually frustrated."

"I've seen you sexually frustrated for years - this, this looks more like mad."

I reach over and smack him in his arm, which he immediately rubs. "See, if I was mad that would have hurt."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. It's not your fault."

"It's not? Really?"

"No, it's Edna's. I saw her boyfriends do it to her all the time. I guess they made it look easy." He winces at that. I used to wince at the sight when I was little, but it didn't take long to become accustomed to it.

"You're joking, right?"

"One of her friends told her she couldn't get knocked up that way and that's all she needed to hear."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, ouch." I can't count the number of times I walked in on her drunken orgies to ask for my morning cup of milk or to go outside and play. It didn't take long to learn how to fix it myself without spilling it or to realize I didn't need to ask to go out, since she would never notice. Years later she would tell me that she had made me self-sufficient. Well, that she did.

I break from my thoughts when I notice that Eric is staring at me oddly and I don't know what I've done. I tell him I wish I knew how to get Edna on the phone and he laughs. If there was ever anyone I could ask detailed questions about sex, vanilla or otherwise, it would be my mother.

Eric shrugs and says that maybe we could get a book.

"Where, like at the library?"

He blushes and backpedals."We SO can _not_ get a book."

"Don't worry. We'll figure something out by the next time we get the room."

"Hyde?"

"What?"

"Will you sleep with me up in my room?"

I have to smile. "Forman, you're a naughty boy."

Before he's able to form any words, he does his usual shrugging, hand waving _I don't know how to say this_ spiel then complains my basement bedroom is a little cold and that a giant spider lives there. I tell him that giant spider is my pet and that his name is Robert Plant. He graces me with a bewildered expression, which I ignore. "Love me, Forman; love my spider."

"You named him Robert Plant?"

"I did."

"Every time I try to go into your room he just," Eric points to his eyes with v shaped fingers, "stares right through me."

"I trained him to do that!" I laugh and then he doesn't, but it's damn funny.

"Seriously though - I mean, it's a really big spider who's probably been mutated by years of second hand pot smoke and it's not the best idea to sleep in the same room with it."

"Not IT; Robert Plant. And not years; months maybe, but they don't live years."

"You're not funny; that spider could just - turn on one of us at any moment and - you know - crawl on us and bite one of us with giant mutant spider fangs."

"Not one of us, Forman - YOU. And he's barely the size of a damn dime and his teeth are like paper."

"I am not sleeping in the same room with that spider."

"Forman, not only are you going to sleep in the same room with that itty-bitty little spider, I am going to fuck you senseless right under his web until you scream my name."

"Yeah, it's more likely I'll scream _OH MY GOD, IT'S A GIANT SPIDER!_

I not only smack him in the arm for that, but I hit him on the exact same spot as before.

Billy Joel comes on the radio as we pass the old Sycamore road and I turn into the woods. It's isolated enough here that we can park and not be noticed. I want to make him dance with me, but I haven't got the guts and it's kind of a lame song anyway. I turn up the radio and smile at him. It's all a bit of a blur after that and all I can be sure of is by the time the song says _... slow down you crazy child ... _Eric is pinned to the back seat and my tongue is down his throat to keep him from singing along.

I've decided that if this is all we get to do for awhile, then we have to do it a lot - maybe twenty or thirty times a day.

_... cool it off before you burn it out ... _

One hand is tangled in his hair and the other runs up and down the back of his shirt. I'm smashing his body to mine, as close as I can but not close enough, before we startle at the sound of a snapped twig. Out the window we see nothing but wind-blown trees with fall colored leaves touched by moonlight and old rain. The eerie competition between two hoo-hoo owls drowns out the radio and, other than our pounding hearts and sighs of relief, is all we hear for several moments. I lean into the upholstery, out of breath, and tense involuntarily when Eric's fingernails dig into my t-shirt in an attempt to to stave off hyperventilation. Within my line of vision are fireflies that glow pretty and last short; their tiny fire lights a reminder of soft beauty and simple joy.

_... dream on but don't imagine they'll all come true ..._

We both relax and Eric breathes an uncomfortable laugh, ashamed to have been so afraid. He lets me kiss the tip of his nose, then buries his face in my neck. I give him a chance to regain his composure, pretending not to be disturbed by his reaction. If that had been a cop ... or Red; let's just say I would have been more pleased to see a serial killer.

Before I can tell him it's alright, something loud hits his window full force and fast; and this time I am as terrified as he - in other words I almost piss myself. We both flinch away from the door, Eric on my lap, as Kelso opens it and triumphantly screams "BURN! MOMENT OF MAXIMUM IMPACT!"

I push Eric off me and he jumps into the front seat. I glare at Kelso, who is laughing hysterically, and wonder how he can think this kind of shit is funny. He demands to know if he caught us fucking and I find I'm unable to form words until I hear an angry and drawn out _YOU SON OF A ... _come out of nowhere.

I don't remember lunging at him or punching him in the eye, but suddenly we are both lying on cold, damp dirt and I'm screaming words even I can't understand and beating the shit out of him. Leo pulls me back and tells me to keep it down or else he and Kelso won't be able to sneak up on Hyde and Eric. That calms me a little; it was only a joke - a really bad one. Michael Kelso is not a threat, just an idiot. Now I realize I'm the one about to hyperventilate.

"Damn, Hyde," Kelso covers his eye with his hand, "that freaking really hurt bad. What the hell!"

Eric is sitting in the drivers seat, shaking and laughing softly, but in a frighteningly irrational manner, trying hard to figure why he can't start my car without a key. After too many futile attempts, he grips the wheel tightly and repeatedly whispers _take me home ... take me home ... take me home_.

**Only fools are satisfied**

We park in front of the house for at least forty five minutes before we get it together enough to sit on the porch. Michael Kelso struck a serious dent in my calm, but other than the insane outburst I had a little bit ago, I think I've been covering for it pretty well.

We kick back and watch in silence as the sky begins to light. The dawn is always a beautiful thing, even here in Point Place, which is bordered by three different factories that send their toxins into the ground and the air. But our little suburb resists ruin. The air is still clear here and crisp in the morning; not heavy and humid like when Edna and I lived in Florida or dark and stormy like in Illinois.

Any minute now, our neighbors will begin wrestling with their alarm clocks and arguing with their families over who gets the mornings first shower and who makes the coffee. I'd like to be in that happy little place - where trivial domestic squabbles are my only concern. That life doesn't seem boring to me anymore; it seems free and unbearably light.

I smile at the thought and then at Eric, who doesn't appear to share the same concerns as I. He looks at me like I don't understand what will happen. First, his father will shove his foot so far up my ass that it could be wedged permanently. If, by some miracle it's not, Eric will be next. It suddenly strikes me as hilarious that the consequences be the same whether I nail his son or forget to take out the trash. That's messed up and just plain wrong.

"First, my dad will kill the both of us," he fidgets. "OK. Maybe even to death. Then, my mother will leave him; she'll divorce him for murdering us."

"Christ, Forman - will not."

"I don't want my parents to grow old and die all alone. You don't understand - it would be my fault."

"That can't be what this is about. It's not going to happen. They'll get over it. They'll get past it."

"Then so will we," he looks up. "I mean YOU. So will you."

"You said WE." I can't help but smile as I pull him closer to me. He's quite adorable when he's a nervous idiot, which actually he is most of the time. I remind him that we have a hotel room on Sundays and Thursdays, and even though we work there, we can still take the towels. "I know you're really scared, but I'm with you. I'll always be with you."

"My father loves you way more than he has ever loved me."

"Ah man, that's bullshit. Don't do this!" I feel the universe crumble around me and though I repeat to myself that this can't happen, it not only can, it is. A feeling of hopelessness and dread spreads throughout my body. If he denies me, what can I ever do or say to change his mind. I'll bet this is just how he felt all those times Donna jerked him around. In fact, I know it is, because I was there.

"It's not, though. It's true. We can't do this anymore. It's crazy."

"You know what, Forman - if the thought of us being together makes you sick, just say it does. Don't hide behind you dad and don't fuck with my feelings." His once trusting eyes are so wide now. I'm a cold-hearted, selfish prick and I know it, but only fools are satisfied with anything less than forever. I leave him sitting on the porch alone.

It took every ounce of courage I had to take him to that hotel room. I matched my socks and brushed my teeth. I wore a clean t-shirt and splashed on some of Red's cologne, so what the hell? Everything was supposed to be perfect last night. The room was ours for nine entire hours. I cooked spaghetti and we got stoned by the fireplace. It was going to be the two of us against the world, stuffed full of pasta and weed, listening to a Pink Floyd album on tacky berber carpeting. It doesn't get more tender or romantic than that. What is this _my parents will be disappointed in us_ shit? What about me? I'm terribly disappointed and absolutely pissed off.

Yeah, it's going to be hard going. Red will probably pop a few vessels over this, but Eric is a little too paranoid; something I've found attractive up until now. There is no way his father would ever disown him. I'm not saying he won't be mad - he will. There's a definite chance he'll even shit battery acid, but after a decade or two of extra yelling things will be all right. Eric follows me to the door, which I open for him like the fucking gentleman I am. Red is sitting on the couch waiting for us.

"Where the hell have the two of you been all night? I looked everywhere."

Eric looks at him and at me, then runs up the stairs to his room. Red ignores it, probably because he doesn't really care. "We worked an extra shift at the hotel. Is something wrong?"

"You're damn right something is wrong. A couple of hookers got arrested for lifting your wallet at that dive you two live at." I sit next to him on the couch, acting like nothing in the world is the matter. "I want you both to stay far away from that damn road house. It's crawling with situations you're too young to know exist. And what the hell were you doing close enough to one of them that she could get your wallet?"

I shrug and swear I must have dropped it. Red looks at me funny and is disbelieving when he says, "Right. You stay away from those kind of girls, Steven. They only want one thing and it's not what you want them to want."

I smile and he pats my shoulder and laughs. "To think, just the other day I was worried you and Eric were turning queer."

I put my feet on the coffee table, cross my arms and lean back into the sofa, laughing sarcastically. "To think, you would have been right."

To my surprise, he doesn't flinch, just turns his head back and yells, "Eric, get your ass down here!"

:)

To be continued ...

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) Running on Empty by Jackson Browne  
:) Vienna Waits for You by Billy Joel


	7. The Landslide

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
by Jennifer Ryan  
09/20/07

:)

**Landslide**

Red walks around the couch and then doubles back. He's pacing - not nervously, but like a predator hot on the trail of idiot teenager. He sits in his chair, stands, sits again and tries to speak, but stops and stands up again. He appears to be composing the speech to himself first - struggling to choose his words carefully and trying his best not to explode.

Eric sits next to me, eyes hurt and disbelieving. I was a dick to do this; that fact is not lost on me. Eric's spent the last month so terrified that his father would find out about us and turn on him, that I've taken things into my own hands. Problem solved; he knows. Like I said, it was a dick move, but it had to happen and now we can get it over with and get on with our lives. I'm a fighter, have been since day one; Eric is, too - he just doesn't realize it yet.

"Boys, when I was in Korea there were a couple of ... nancy boys ... in my unit. Nice enough guys, it seemed. Hell, when we weren't making fun of them we let them cook and do our laundry. Basically, it was a deal that worked out well for everyone."

I tense and cross my arms tight around me, both angry and afraid. "What is your point?"

"Knock it off, smart ass. Now listen, I know your girlfriends left you and you're both confused." He stands behind the sofa and puts one hand on my shoulder and one on Eric's and kneads hard. "Very, very confused." He leans over and puts an arm around each of us and smiles. "So, I'm willing to cut you two a deal. Whatever you are doing; whatever you're thinking about doing, it ends right here. It will never be thought about or mentioned again and daddy will be happy."

"Yes, sir." Eric says quietly while looking at the floor, much like he always does. Just like I will never do.

"No."

Red is sure I didn't hear him, so he repeats himself, as do I. Eric stammers my name and I grab him, repeating angrily, "NO. We talked about this. We talked about everything. We decided together and you PROMISED me."

He flys off the sofa and I lunge for him, but he dodges me, taking the stairs two at a time. I want to follow but Red grabs me and even though I'm beyond ready to knock him unconscious, I pull the punch and he steps away. "I was promised. I was promised this!" I climb the stairs and stand outside Eric's door, hitting it as hard as I can and scream so loud, Mrs. Forman comes into the hall. I hear myself scream, _YOU FUCKING PROMISED ME!_ but don't realize I'm crying until I slide to the floor and Red is hugging me.

:)

**El Señor Fernando Eduardo Zayas-Bazán de Point Place**

Fez and I skulk the city, bored and cruising for the kind of fun less than two dollars and thirty-six cents can provide. Every girl in town is engaged or already has a boyfriend she won't dump for us, we don't have enough gas to make it to a movie theater and the arcade game at the breakfast place is busted. So we drive, on the look out for action, no matter how slight.

"And so then, I totally caught Eric and Hyde trying to do it and I like, freaked out Hyde completely. And then for no reason at all, he just up and punches me right in the eye."

"Of course he punched you in the eye, you moron. Eric is a beautiful boy and Hyde was about to get lucky and maybe have sexual intercourse for the first time since Jackie the Goddess told him to kiss her beautiful ass."

"Well, yeah, but they were both being totally gay. It was my duty as their friend to sneak up on them and try to scare them to death. Heh - you should have seen their faces, man, SUPER BURN!"

"If Eric and Steven have decided to be gay, then there will be much more pudding in this town for you and for me, my friend."

"Holy crap, that's genius! I might even have a chance with Donna if she ever comes back. I mean, G-d and everybody knows I tried to touch her boob a lot of times. With Eric out of the picture, it's boob city, man."

Fez sighs dreamily, "Boob city is such a happy place, but Fez is still very sad. Everyone is leaving me or becoming homosexual. I am floating alone on an island of manliness. Alone ... so, so alone."

"Hey, I'm on man island, too! It is stictly pudding for this hombre. Although - I had PE class with Hyde for two years. I bet he's seen me naked a zillion times. Now, I'm just stating fact here, but I am one damn beautiful man; so what the hell?"

"It is true, you are very beautiful, but also you are a cheating no good whore. Eric would make a much better housewife for Steven."

"That's BS. Not the no good whore part, cause I admit it, but ... Eric is not a better housewife than I am."

"Eric will be one million times the housewife you could ever be. He is an anchor of emotional support and stability for Steven and what he lacks in masculine beauty is compensated for in pleasant disposition."

"Alright, you got me. Eric is awfully pleasant to be around. And he's even girly like a wife. I mean, I may be beautiful like a girl, but I so do not act like a girl, you know what I mean."

"I do know."

"Fez, man, I just had a really great idea."

"I have had the same very great idea! We should buy an apartment and live there together and fullfill Fez's dream of becoming a swinging American bachelor who has many women at his apartment!"

"Oh. Well, yeah that's a good idea, too, but I was going to say you should pull into the A & P and get a super slushie with triple syrup and ten packets of sugar in it."

"You always have the best ideas, Michael. Promise we will be friends forever and ever and that you will never leave or become gay."

"I promise."

"And also will you loan me money for a slushie?"

"OK. Hey Fez, if we really get an apartment together, you need to know that sometimes when I poop I like to read comics. It can take like, a whole hour sometimes."

"Then we will need two bathrooms because I also like to do this. Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"Promise also that we will have Eric and Steven over for a dinner party. A fancy one where we dress up nicely and use good place settings."

"Oh, I am so down with that! You know, I can make cheesy macoroni and fish sticks with almost no supervision."

:)

**Landslide**

When I wake, I'm curled in the middle of the Forman's bed and Kitty is taking off my shoes and mumbling nonsence about boys and their big, dirty feet on her nice clean covers. I open my eyes and she laughs nervously, "But I love you anyway, honey."

I feel wrung out bad and disoriented. Everything is turned off and the room is moonlit, telling me it's night time now. Mrs. Forman stretches out beside me and carefully begins with the psychological analysis I knew was coming long ago.

"Sweetheart ..."

I tell her calmly and with a great sense of resignation, "Don't."

"I'm not trying to trivialize your feelings."

There is a picture of white and yellow flowers on the wall and I stare at it to keep from breaking down. She is the last person I ever want to argue with about anything. I love her. She is the mother I never had.

She strokes my hair soft and easy, lingering long to play with the curls. "I know you've been very confused and lonely." I roll over so I'm no longer facing her because, literally, I just can't face her right now. I don't understand why she didn't go hold Eric and let Red come in here and smack me sensless while calling me a dumb ass. "Everything you are feeling right now is valid and ... it's going to be all right. But you realize, honey, that this isn't - that this just can not happen."

I scrunch my eyes together and bite down hard on my tongue. Why the hell isn't Red in here yelling at me? This is bullshit psychological warfare.

"Steven, you know that - we just love you so much."

I can't speak so I jump off the bed and am careful not to look back. If I look back, I'll cry. Nobody EVER fucking makes me cry - ever. Except maybe this morning during my break down. Dammit.

I walk to Eric's room. When I open the door he will run to me, jump into my arms and say he loves me no matter what. I've always believed he has and I have to believe it now. If he doesn't - if he refuses me; I may as well die. He's stronger than what I've been seeing; he fought so hard for Donna. He didn't give a damn about what anyone thought, especially not Red. Why the hell does this have to be so different? She left - she abandonned him; not one time, many times. Over and over; second best - Donna's time filler until something better came along. I break from these thoughts when I realize I'm paused at the door, too afraid to turn the knob. I'm kidding myself. He'll shy away and I will have lost the only person in this world who has ever really loved me. The only who has stayed. The one who promised and then muffed out, or is possibley maybe almost about to. I crack the door and see his father on the bed with him, talking softly and nonstop. I can't hear it, but am sure it's the same speech as was meant for me, but with a generous peppering of _ass for a hat_.

I've never felt so alone in all my life. I walk down to the kitchen and take Red's last six pack from the refrigerator. Kitty follows far behind and watches me without a word. I walk out the back door, flip the car radio on, and purch atop the Vista Cruiser, guzzling a beer quickly as I light a cigarette. Jackie and Donna left almost four months ago. A summer trip to visit Jackie's "fat" aunt in Chicago is now a new home, or it will be for at least four years. Because I pissed Jackie off too many times or because loving Eric constituted settling, I'll never know.

The myriad reasons leading up to this are unimportant. If things could have stayed the same forever, I would have let them. Eric loved Donna and I would have done anything to ensure their happiness together. I would have been his best man if he asked me. I would stand outside Donna's room at Le Hotel and pull the fire alarm all night long if another man took her there. I would have been an uncle to their babies and slept in their fucking basement for the rest of my life, if it meant we could be together. I would have dreamed every night about having him to take care of and shower with love. Maybe now I'll get a dog instead.

Or maybe Donna will come back and say she was all wrong. They'll get back together and Katherine and Reginald will be overjoyed. No one will point or gossip or ask wrong, uncomfortable questions and it will never matter to me one bit, because I will have long since jumped off a bridge. Edna was right all along. Life is shit. I close my eyes and listen to the music. _... sail through the changing ocean tides ... handle the seasons of my life ..._

I open another beer and the volume of my music fades low. I turn to see Red standing behind me, fiddling with the radio. "Which band is this playing?"

I shrug, then down the entire can and toss it to the ground. Instead of walking away, he sits next to me on the hood and takes one of his beers. "Well, it's a really nice song. Usually the bands you two listen to are obnoxious." His humor falls nowhere but flat. I haven't the energy or desire to help this conversation in any way. In fact, I plan to make every second of this as painful and difficult as I possibley can. I ignore him and open another beer, which he takes away from me. "Slow it down; you don't have enough brain cells left to kill."

I take it back and thank him profusely for the loving words of flattery, at which he rolls his eyes in disgust. "Red, man, whatever you came out here to threaten me with is a waste of your breath. I love him and I will never leave him. But he won't come away unless he knows you'll be alright, so do everyone a favor and let him down easy. Tell him you'll learn to live without a son. I'm more than happy to take him off your hands permanently and I can guarantee you we will never, ever call or write and you'll never have to be humiliated by either of us."

"Well, Steven, it so happens that I can't live without a son. And neither one of you is going anywhere, so back it up a notch and quit being such a hard ass." He pauses and looks away from me and I'm both thrilled and ashamed to have hurt him, even if slightly. He's quiet a long time and obviously uncomfortable. "Steven, does Eric ever talk about his Uncle Martin?"

"I met him when your mom died." I think back to Red introducing Marty to everyone as his sister. If he ever has anything to do with either of us again after tonight, I expect we will share Marty's same sad and pathetic fate.

Red looks down at the asphalt and tells me, "He was a year younger than you guys the first time he tried to kill himself."

I'm surprised and know it shows. "Eric never told me that."

"Eric didn't know until tonight. There are things you don't tell your children, Steven. My old man was a real brutal bastard."

"Your dad was cop, right?"

"Yeah." He downs his beer, as if to drown bad memories, and takes the last one. "What he did doesn't matter anymore; he's gone and it's over."

"I'll bet it still matters to poor crazy Uncle Marty."

"When my father died, I made good and damn sure his anger was buried with him. But it doesn't mean I'm not really mad, because I am ..., " he balls up his fist at me as he looks for the right words. "... really, really mad." I look away and he takes me by the arm to force my attention. "No matter what happens with you and Eric, I am NOT going to live through the Marty fiasco again. I still believe to this day there were no survivors of that mess."

"What the hell happened?"

"Like I said, there are things you don't tell your children." He slides off the hood and picks up the beer cans and my cigarette butts. "Now you get your ass in that house, tell Eric good night, and then go downstairs to YOUR bed, in YOUR room." As he opens the kitchen door, he turns back and clarifies, "by YOURself! We'll sort this out tomorrow."

I turn off the radio and stand alone in the driveway for just a moment to look at the stars. Did Red Forman just _NOT_ kick my ass out of his house? I scan the yard for a likeness of the Virgin Mary, as this might qualify as some kind of miracle.

See, it's just like I told Eric all along, everything is going to be OK. He's going to have learn to have complete and unquestioning faith in me. I have never been wrong and I never doubted anything - for more than a minute. I briefly wonder who I think I'm fooling; that was so close I almost barfed on myself.

I take the stairs to Eric's room quietly and he opens the door before I can. I can tell he's shaken, but he's smiling, too. He calls me an asshole, throws his arms around my neck and we smooch the life out of each other. We lay on his spiderman sheets and talk until four in the morning. He tells me Red has decided we get to live and that he even maybe loves us a little bit. And we hold onto each other tight, that little bit more than either of us really dreamed possible.

It's difficult to believe the same landslide that ravages every thing in its path can also transforms that same landscape into a beautiful clean slate. For every day of the rest of my life, I've little doubt Red Forman will remind me of the night he gained two daughters instead of lost a son. And then, of course, Mrs. Forman is calling Pastor Dave tomorrow. You win some, you lose some.

:)

To be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) Landslide by Fleetwood Mac


	8. All Good People

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
by Jennifer Ryan  
11/12/06

:)

**Any black square**

Every sound in the house is extinguished by rainfall and has been for slow moving hours. Water sticks to the window in little drops whose depressingly short lives end before me when knocked loose by another.

Summer was unusually cold this year and now the fall is just plain odd. It's November now and instead of the ice and snow characteristic of our geography, we are plagued with a week of violent and freezing thunderstorms. It's done nothing for the mood around here, as my idiot beloved and I have been home bound due to the heavy flooding and never ending rain. Red, uncomfortable with the ever present level of tension, swam to work and suggested we do the same. It's not so easy as it sounds, as my partner in crime is afraid not only of water, but of anything that makes a plunking sound.

I don't think that will be an issue much longer, because I firmly believe the two of us won't be living here come Christmas. His mother is unfailingly vigilant; I mean insanely desperate that we are never unsupervised so that we aren't exploring each others naked bodies in a way compatible with burning in hell. She's spoken with Pastor Dave for hours on several occasions and we did, too. The last time he "counseled" us I super glued his ass to his chair and pulled the phone cord from the wall. That was six days ago and I've not heard from him since. Maybe no one has; maybe he's still there waiting. The thought makes me smile, because I really enjoy being a dick.

Mrs. Forman makes peanut butter cookies with little chocolate candies that are perfectly centered. She lays them on a large plate in a neat and orderly circle and stacks a second layer. Her attention is focused on making a beautiful presentation, a distraction from what she views as an unhappy reality. She doesn't want to think about me or about Eric or what we've done to destroy their happy pedestrian family life. I know she is explosively angry and this is what she calls _healthy avoidance_ - her way of taking a deep breath and pretending everything is going to somehow be alright one day, as if by magic.

Never in all my life could I have imagined she, the eternal peace keeper, would be the one to condemn us. The hard ass in my heart says to take Eric and run far, to erase her from my memory and carry on with my every day as if nothing is wrong. The orphan says no matter how far I go, I'll always be haunted by her reproval. And Eric said it himself; he doesn't want his parents to be alone. Since they found out about us, it's as if the four of us exist in isolated corners of the universe. Red's sad resignation of our relationship was an unbelievable shock, but Kitty's rejection is devastating and don't know that any of us can survive it. No one is sure exactly what to say or how to feel - no one except Kitty - and it hangs over every action like a dark cloud. When we join her in the kitchen, she greets us in her usual anxious fashion.

"Well," she smiles uncomfortably, "if it isn't two little boys I won't see in Heaven." She breathes a laugh then begin to cry, so uncomfortable with us that she leaves the room. I lay the giant platter of cookies before my sweetheart and we pick at them, not knowing what to do with ourselves anymore.

Eric looks to me with sad eyes and softly says, "I plan on going to Heaven. What about you?"

I assure him with a loving smile, "I'll follow wherever you lead." After I chew up my cookie, I add that I hope to one day be buried directly on top of him. "You know, this chocolate candy has given me a great idea about how to get your mouth on my penis. I really think it's going to work, too."

"I don't care if you spray whipped cream all over your wiener, I'm not licking it, sucking it, yanking on it or letting you insert it into any part of my body."

I tell him confidently, "You'll change your mind one day. I've got a plan."

"Is this a concrete plan or one of those _I've got plans on making plans_ kind of things?"

"It's a mix between both. Don't worry, you'll be surprised."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

He looks down and away, rolling a cookie between his fingers until it is soft, scattered crumbs. "She might never get over this." I know well that he's right. I fully expected his dad to kill us before Kitty could render an opinion; never once considering she wouldn't be our shelter. "Hyde, what are we going to do?"

How do I tell him that I don't really know? I'm willing to be as flexible as I can swallow if there is a chance I can help him preserve a relationship with his parents. I take his hand in mine and lick cookie off his fingers, stuck for a way to express what I am feeling, so I sing, _"Move me on to any black square, use me any time you want ... "_ His tender smile causes my heart to swell and I pull him on to my lap so he's looking down at me and continue. _"... just remember that the goal ... is for us all to capture all we want."_

We kiss for just a moment, breaking apart when Red comes through the kitchen door and yells that we've blinded him. He covers his eyes, telling us good night and to go somewhere without windows. My idiot sweetheart laughs and hugs me. I send him to his room with instructions to toss some stuff in a bag. If the roads are at all passable, we're going to the Hotel California.

I take the basement stairs quietly and find Mrs. Forman pulling laundry from the dryer. After a deep breath and silent seconds, I clear my throat to draw her attention, finding it sad that I have to do so. For as long as I can remember she attended to all us kids with a cat-like state of readiness. _Do you want a snack, sweetheart? Was today a good day? Aren't you precious in that little outfit? Don't you want to watch the Donnie and Marie show with me?_ There were times she'd chase us from room to room and throughout the yard, begging to mother and please us.

As we grew older, she didn't stop; not until now. I know that she does love us still and that this situation has been hard on her especially. But I'm more afraid that if one side doesn't work toward resolution that this entire family will fly apart like a shattering glass and it will have been my doing. I don't want Eric and Kitty to end up like me and Edna. I beat the hell out of myself to make that situation work and it got me nothing and nowhere, but I'd sooner drive a blade through my heart than be the cause of an irreparable rift in this family. My greatest fear is that if I can not do something to fix this situation, if I fail again, that I will have to leave. Please, G-d, don't make me leave.

She finally acknowledges me and I'm struck for words. I've no song lyrics to cover this and no anger to cover myself. "I just came down to get my letters to President Carter."

She's mildly disgusted and tosses down a freshly matched pair of tube socks in an exaggerated manner. "Honey, you've got to leave the poor man be. He has enough problems with inflation and world peace."

"I only write once a week now." I raise my hand like a boyscout and promise. She smiles and ends the conversation, so I tell her that Eric and I are leaving. She drops the socks like they're on fire and her entire body stills, save her eyes which she scrunches closed as if in pain. "It's best," I concentrate hard on the floor. "I can't have you hating me and hurting him."

She turns and acts as if I am ridiculous, "I love you both and you are not going anywhere." She balances the laundry basket on her hip and walks to the stairs. "Really, Steven, what did you think you would accomplish gluing Pastor Dave to his chair? Do you know how embarrassed he was to have to holler out the window, _Help, I need someone to bring me a pair of pants?_"

I burst into laughter and stifle it quickly, trying to preserve the seriousness of the conversation I was pressing until she changed the subject. I fold my arms across my chest, like I do when I'm angry or insecure and tell her that he asked for it. "Next week is Thanksgiving. If you want us here, we can be reached at the hotel."

"If you don't want to talk to Pastor Dave then I'll make you an appointment with Dr. Ryan. She is a very nice lady psychologist from the hospital and ..."

"I'm telling you right now, as honestly as I can, that if you insist on sending us to see a psychologist, we will go. But so that you don't frustrate yourself by wasting time and money, I will consider it nothing more than marriage counseling."

"Honey," she gestures toward the couch, "sit down for a minute and listen to me."

"No." I take her by the arms and lead her gently. "You sit down, because I need you to hear what I'm saying." To my relief she sits quietly, looking up to me and surely wondering what I could possibly have to say. "I love you. I love you more than I have ever loved my own mother ... and up until this I was sure you would be the only woman who loved me for the rest of my life."

"Steven, I do."

"If you really mean that, then stop trying to break Eric and me apart by shaming and humiliating us. I know you think I'm trying to destroy your family, that I'm ... corrupting your baby and that you wish you'd never brought me here."

"No, Steven, I'm not sorry ..."

"Good." My words become louder, progressively, because I think I'm about to break down and I'm trying real hard to cover for it. "Because he told me he loves me just as much as I love him. We are unbreakable. I would die before I let someone hurt him, even you. And I don't want to die, but I will, before I let his own mother turn on him." It is at this point a few tears escape as she pulls me down next to her so she can smother me and cover my forehead with smooches. "This is not a psychiatric problem for you to treat. No one is going to burn in hell for this, do you understand me? "

She holds me close and tight, rocking me and repeating, "I love you. we'll work on it. We'll work on it."

I wipe my eyes and stand so I can kiss her good bye. "I'm taking Eric to the hotel for a few days; give everybody some time. This will be a good thing." I toss some of the clean laundry into my pillow case and she smiles up at me. I promise her we will come back for Thanksgiving, "and after we leave, let Red know I took his beer."

She watches me climb the stairs and I begin to feel hopeful as I sing to myself _...any black square._ I join Eric in the kitchen and catch him eating dry cereal from the box, which I take it from him. I throw my arm around his shoulder and kiss his cheek. "Come on, we're gonna go eat french food. Just you and me, baby."

He smiles and asks if this is part of my diabolical plan to get him near my wiener. I slide on my shades and tell him that it is step one. The goal is for us all to capture all we want

:)

to be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

* All Good People by Yes


	9. Crossroads

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
by Jennifer Ryan  
01/06/07

:)

**Crossroads**

The fire is burning and the lights are made low. I feel as if I've been planning this forever - tonight I use all my moves. I tossed four dollars worth of fried chicken and cherry coke down Eric's throat, a gesture I was sure would make his clothes fall off. Since it would be tacky and rude to demand he undress, I play it smooth and throw my beer on him.

"Hyde, what the hell?"

"Oops," I smile. "Now take your clothes off so we can fuck."

"I can't believe you just poured your beer all over me."

"Calm down, there's a robe in the bathroom." I stand behind him, wrapping him in my arms to trap him. With escape impossible, I pull his shirt up quickly, not giving him a chance to wiggle or whine. Unfortunately, I can't get the damn thing over his giant head and he squirms free. Before I know what has happened he closes himself in the bathroom. Drats - foiled again. It's a good thing I'm a patient guy.

I gather every pillow and every blanket in the room and make a pile in front of the hearth. As I lay watching, the little sparks remind me of stars and I think of my grandmother. She told me the stars are really pinpricks in the sky; tiny holes through which we can reach Heaven. I've always remembered because it's strange to me that such a thought could come from the same woman who called my mother a whore for cavorting with nigger boys. I'd never heard that word before then and I didn't know that a mommy - an adult - could get yelled at and slapped by her mother. I think I was five or so and they lived _in the country_ - where I had no idea then and have no idea now. My father was looking for steady work at the time, which was Edna's code for _Bud's in the lockup again._

I think often on the time we spent with her family and remember it as vividly as if I were there again. I'm not sure why exactly, but it's one of my first big memories. We stayed with her family for three weeks of nonstop fighting until one night Edna pulled me out of bed and we walked about a mile to the highway and waited too many hours in the cold. I had two new sets of clothes - the only I owned save what I was wearing - and a stuffed bear packed in to a small bag with a picture of a cowboy on it. It was the first new store bought stuff I remember, given to me by gramma and aunt what's her name.

That was a really happy day for me because we went without Edna and I remember thinking that when I got home she wouldn't be there and voila - she wasn't. What little she owned was gone and grandpa and aunt what's her name got in the pickup truck looking madder than I've ever seen anyone, even Red. An hour or so later, her father drug her through the front door by her hair. She had a black eye and I remember thinking that Grandpa had rescued her from some bad guys. Sadly, I know now he beat the shit out of her for trying to dump me on them. She was too stubborn and angry to let him see her cry and she put on a good show after that. Every minute of every day for the next week, she was heavily guarded by relatives so escape would not be possible. I can remember her sisters teaching her to cook _the right way_ and that she wore the ugly housewife dresses they'd lent her. Grandpa had appointed them to turn Edna into a presentable lady - a wife and mother - so that when Bud came home from his job hunt she would be prepared to cut out all her nonsense and care for a family.

That last day gramma was on Edna's case nonstop, following her around the house and yelling at her. Before I went to bed my gramma told me I would be starting school soon, then turned to Edna and said, "Did you hear me, girl? Tomorrow you're enrolling this baby in the school." That was my last memory of gramma and it's quite possible I'm better off for it. After everyone was asleep Edna pulled me out of bed and had my little cowboy bag packed already. We stood along the deserted roadside and waited forever. She sang every song she knew and rambled back and forth between Bob Dylan and Pat Boone before she ran out of cigarettes and steam. It was then she finally let go and started to cry.

Looking back on her with grown eyes, I'm surprised she wasn't near as fucked up and she could have been. It wasn't long after that, by some miracle, that crazy "Uncle" Rudy found us despite Edna's crappy directions. I went right to sleep between them, lulled by the radio and the familiar smell of the joint they shared. We drove for several days until we got to Florida, where I met the beach and fell in love with shells and sand. That was a good place and I'd like to go back one day, take Eric there and maybe even stay. The thought of it suddenly fills me with sadness, because in the back of my mind I don't think we'll ever have enough money to make it there.

"Forman, if you don't get out here I'm going to break all your toy robots!" The door flys open and he's tying the bathrobe around himself tight, telling me I wouldn't dare. I pat the spot next to me and he sits obediently, arms folded protectively across himself.

"Lord Vader," he takes my hand, "without my battle droids I am at your mercy."

"Don't be sad, baby. Your robots are safe from me," I promise and kiss his palm. He smiles wickedly and I hand him a bottle of champagne. "It's the cheap stuff. I thought it would be romantic if we downed it straight out of the bottle before we do IT for a couple of hours."

"You're way too excited about this."

I wiggle out of my pants and throw them across the room. "Yeah, well you're way too nervous about this."

"Have you done this before?"

"What kind of stupid question is that?"

"I mean with a guy. Have you done this with a guy? You should be nervous. I don't want to be nervous by myself!"

"Forman, everything makes you tense. I knew this wouldn't be any different. I got us a jug of shine, didn't I?"

"I thought it was champagne."

"It's all in your perception, now guzzle it. I need you as far out of your mind as possible if we're gonna do this thing." It was meant to be funny but just makes him more anxious. "Don't worry. If you can't relax tonight, we'll watch the Family Feud."

That makes him smile. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath while I turn on the radio. I slide my hand into his robe and rub his belly while we make out for awhile. Finally, my chance to corrupt him completely has arrived and it's almost too much for me to handle. Dare I be so dirty as to force him to make the first move? To remind him of his strict _I don't feel completely comfortable touching another guys weenie_ policy? We roll and he's on top, as in charge now as he has been since day one. G-d help me, I'll never survive all this.

The Allman Brothers serenade us and I ask if I am loved. I run my hand up the side of his face and he covers it and sings to me in a slow whisper _" ... the gypsy flys from coast to coast ... "_

_" ... knowing many, loving none ... "_, I counter

He whispers back, _"sharing sorrow, having fun ..."_

Then I topple him, attacking with more desperation than finesse. Of course, if anything like that mattered, he wouldn't have chosen a total dickhead like me for a suitor. We nibble and cuddle, kissing and singing along to the music. He's pushes his hands down the back and my shorts and is slowly sliding them off when our party is interrupted by banging at the door. Dammit.

**The Ballad of Michael Kelso**

Two hours later, Kelso's blathering hasn't become any more intelligent or less annoying. I watch him from across the small dining table, wishing for laser beam vision to zap him to another dimension. I can't believe I finally got Eric relaxed enough to be half-naked - which was a lot more naked than I'd expected to get him during the first few years of our relationship - only to be foiled by Kelso's boredom.

Eric is dressed again, tee-shirt inside out and missing his socks which are who knows where. Sporting the worst case of bed head I've ever seen, he paces the room with Kelso's bong, studying every commercial that plays on the television. He repeats the announcers verbatim or sings the theme songs softly and seriously, _munch-a bunch of Fritos brand corn chips, 9-Lives presents Morris, Meredith Baxter-Birney for Preference by L'Oreal, the Atari video computer system: twenty different cartridges with thirteen hundred game variations that you can play on your home tv set!_ Kelso doesn't appear to notice because he's seen us both worse for wear, even before we got together, and accepts it as a natural thing.

And then Kelso's voice cuts through Forman's soft, happy chatter like a foghorn. "I'm just saying that if we ever did start a band, the Doobie brothers is the all time perfect name. THE DOOBIE BROTHERS, MAN!"

"Dumb ass, it's the perfect TAKEN name."

He rolls his eyes in ever present exasperation, "There's no law that says they get to be the ONLY Doobie Brothers. I mean, other people in the world can have that last name." He pauses and I can almost imagine the little hamster in his brain, running as fast as its feet will carry it, but never quite fast enough to make a difference. "There could even be another Michael Kelso somewhere right now."

"Hey, there could be. And maybe he's got a spot on his forehead just like yours."

He looks up and before he can ask what spot, I hit him directly on said nonexistent mark with the heel of my hand and he topples backward. He laughs and thanks me for the excellent burn. I cross my arms and wait, because when he gets up, I think I'll do it again. If he doesn't get up I'll find another way to entertain myself at his expense. "Kelso, man, you and Fez need to speed up the apartment hunt or we'll have nowhere to do the circle. The basement is no longer a private place."

"Well, damn, Hyde," he calls from the floor, "it's not like you guys don't have this hotel room. Plus there's Leo's house and the Hut and like, a trillion other places."

"Yeah, the problem with this hotel room is every time Eric and I want to be alone, some asshole shows up and ruins it."

"Well, my brother's back at the house for two whole weeks. You know the kind of stuff he does to me!"

I know the kind of stuff Casey does, indeed. It's the petty cruelty that is the result of being one of five brothers too close together in age. It starts as a fight for resources and attention and culminates into the well practiced methods of torture which are as genius in simplicity as they are flawless in execution. Every torment is more inspired than the next, from the vicious murder of Snorkey the goldfish to sneaking into his room at night to piss on his sheets. There are too many to list, but they have truly been a joy to behold all these years. "Kelso, if you don't want to end up with permanent emotional damage, get that apartment! He'll be back again for Christmas and I don't want to have this conversation over again."

He looks wistful, as he often does when high. "Yeah, getting my own place is going to be super great. My parents were so excited they even said they'd pay my share of the rent for a few months until I get on my feet, you know."

I take the bong from my idiot beloved, who's already high flying. "My dad doesn't want me to move out. He LOOOOOOOVES me. You hear that? LOOOOOOOVE."

Kelso laughs. "Your brain is toast!"

"He said _you're my sweet baby._ That's what he said. He said _this is hardly a surprise._"

This makes Kelso laugh louder, so before somebody calls the front desk, I pull sweet baby out of his chair and tell him I'm cutting off his supply. He thanks me with a kiss and falls backward across the sofa.

Now at breakfast the other morning, Red did mention repeatedly that none of this was exactly a shock. I believe his exact words were something along the lines of _... I knew this would happen when you cried for dolls every time we went to the store. And do you know why I bought you those dolls, other than to shut you up? Because I'm a grade A father, damn it._ He may have said something resembling a declaration of love, but all I heard was _... why don't you two take your family of dolly babies outside to help you clean the garage._

Needless to say, Forman thought this an excellent idea and his legion of GI JOES were dispatched throughout the backyard. We actually had a lot of fun playing with them for hours and so many of the neighbors stopped by to comment that I think I saw a little tear in the corner of Red's eye. We never did clean the garage and I have a feeling we will never be asked to again.

"Kelso, you need to apply here and work with Forman and me. You need some direction in your life and frankly, I could use the gas money."

"No way, man. I'm eighteen now. It's time to think about a career, not a job. That's what my dad told me. He said it's my job to establish a career, so basically I'm already working full time. I was watching the Love Boat the other night, right, and I was thinking, I could be a bartender just like Isaac. You only have to go to school for six weeks and you get to meet all those drunk women. I mean, bartender-ing is a career, right? You go to school for it and it pays money, so it counts."

"Serving booze for a living isn't a career, moron, it's a calling."

"I like it. I've never had a calling before. What about you guys, you going to school with Eric?"

"There's no money for Eric's school; that's why we're working here. Maybe he can start next year."

I cast my eyes upon my scrawny inamorato and think we'll both be damn lucky if we're not working here for the rest of our lives. I never wanted this for him. Finances were tight at home before Red's heart attack, but now it feels like we're drowning. I was so sure Eric would be the one to break that cycle in his family; be the first to get a fancy degree and bring home some serious bread.

I wouldn't turn down a shot at that life myself. Book work always came to me easy and I've actually pictured myself as the headmaster at a Catholic Girl's School. If things don't start looking up soon, I wonder what Eric would think of me working for the Bertrand Brothers. He'd probably think something along the lines of sticking his foot in my ass. A few years ago when Edna left, I almost did. Nobody knows this secret, but the Bertrand brothers are the reason I studied french in high school. I used to say it was to get laid or because my family came from there or just anything that sounded good at the time, from playing hockey to working as a photographer at a foreign porn magazine.

The sick truth is the Bertrands' pay a significant amount of money to insignificants like myself. Despite my need to convey a hard attitude, I've little doubt those fucked up Canadians would swallow me alive. Now I have to face the fact that I took all that french for nothing.

I hear soft snoring from across the room and see Eric still draped across the sofa, unmoved from where I left him. There goes my night of dream sex - romantic yet bordering on the unimaginably weird. I know Berry Bertrand - the least threatening of the five - is in the next room with his one of his girlfriends, just like every other Saturday night. I take a deep breath and tell myself I can never allow myself to get involved with those people. Even if baby Berry is just a crooked accountant, his brothers are dangerous, greedy people; maybe even killers.

:)

to be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

* Sweet Melissa by the Allman Brothers Band (go for the regular and the live versions)


	10. The Dreams We Had

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
by Jennifer Ryan  
01/06/07

:)

**Thanksgiving**

The problem with this thing is that I hadn't prepared for every contingency. I was raised to believe liquor, weed and Kentucky Fried Chicken are the holy trinity of getting laid. I saw my parents use that maneuver a thousand times - on each other, on neighbors and on strangers they drug home from the bar. It never failed to produce the desired result for them and they were all losers. Of course, these people were heavy into that kind of scene, not like Eric, whose entire body is like a rigid steel coil, terrified and tense.

So I've put my own spin on the love thing and this time I'm armed with some favorite music cassettes and a cowboy hat. Let's see him get out of this one. I'm ready to be smooth this time - no more blundering Laurel and Hardy like antics, no zany mishaps or preteen fumbling. I'm good time Steven, available for anything, no matter how ludicrous or potentially messy. No stress, no worries and no uncertain, hurt little boy feelings. I want to have more sex than anybody can possibly handle at five in the morning.

My pants land in a crumpled heap in the corner and I fumble with my tapes, undecided between Boston, Journey or the traditional Zeppelin. My mind wonders briefly to Jackie - so many times she stood in this exact spot and flipped her stupid ABBA tape what seemed like endlessly. It's a wonder either of us ever had an orgasm the way she would jump from under me and fly across the room to play it again. Truth be told, I learned to tolerate ABBA back then, but as far as make out music, they can be nerve jangling. I don't want to think about Jackie or how stupid I was to ever try to please her. I don't want to think about how stupid she made me feel about myself, either, or I'll just aggravate myself limp.

Robert Plant watches from the web high above my cot and I imagine he waits as excitedly as I. Once I'm through with Eric, he'll be the creatures' easy prey. I tip my hat to him and he scurries away, busying himself with important spider stuff.

The smell of a slow cooking turkey fills the whole house, as does apple and morning coffee, which I take to mean Red is awake, too. I picture him reading the paper while Kitty cooks, keeping her company through her work day the way he does each morning when she makes breakfast. They talk about married stuff, like money and ungrateful children, and he reads her bits of news and comics. When I think of them I smile, in happy wonder that a mother and father can love and be best friends.

That's the way Eric and I will be forever; the very best of friends. I'll tell him about Beetle Bailey's latest boneheaded stunt while he pours me a bowl of sugar flakes. We'll laugh and talk awhile and then I'll drive off to where ever it is I work, looking fine in a polished light blue '67 mustang. The years will pass and we'll be just as happy with each other, just like his parents are now. We'll never be like Bud and Edna, two people desperate to drown each other, angry with hurt and struggling to pull as many innocent bystanders down with them as possible.

The shuffling of boxes alerts me to the presence of my idiot beloved. I stalk him silently, sliding open the door just enough to pull him inside. He's got that _what the hell_ look he's had on his face since the day we met, the one I'll enjoy erasing in myriad of twisted ways. I push him down on the cot and the first to go are those cheap, sueded three stripe Adidas gym shoes that have always pissed me off. I toss them gently to the floor and straddle him, letting him laugh while I remove my shirt. I put on the cowboy hat and smile, knowing the sight of me in it and my fruit of the looms may be too much to take. He's laughing and trying so hard to contain it that a single tear slips down his cheek. As I kiss it away, his arms go around me and I pull him up so he's sitting on my lap.

"I came down because Laurie will be here any minute. This could be our last chance for a bitch-free circle for a week."

Laurie, I almost forgot. When I woke up this morning to the smell of Thanksgiving dinner, I remember thinking everything was just to good to be true. Why do family holidays have to be ruined by family? I run my hands up his back and pull off his shirt. "I'd rather have your sister disturb the circle than walk in on this."

He smiles down at me, barely composed. "So I've got ask, what's the deal with the hat?"

"It's making you hot, isn't it?" I shove my hand down the front of his jeans, pulling apart the snap and zipper with one tug. "I was thinking that maybe it was time I lassoed you."

I lay him down and pull his pants off inside out and he tells me that's the lamest thing anyone has ever said to him - ever. Next I peel away long red-banded tube socks and pause when I realize I forgot to put a cassette tape in the player. Eric catches me looking and grabs my face, redirecting my attention to the fact that his legs are finally wrapped around my waist. I lay my cowboy hat aside and tell him it would have been Bad Company I played for him.

He smiles with such trust and sings to me, _... baby, if I think about you ... I think about loooooove._

I kiss him soft and slow, and tell him that's the lamest thing anyone has ever said to me - ever. Every muscle tenses and I take a deep breath. Before I bombard him with the Steven Hyde experience, I take in one last aerial view of his scrawny body and chuckle to myself. I can't believe such a floppy-haired, skinny weed could be the source of the unconditional love I've sought my entire life. I soak in the impossible intensity of it all, surprised by its slow burn.

We nip every inch of each other, wiggling and laughing, together and happy. My hard won self-control unravels and I struggle to adjust to the strangeness of it all. He yips and grabs my erection to make sure I can't direct it anywhere fun, stroking me until the joy of passion flows through heated blood and stuns me; amazes me. So we aren't a couple of psychotic hellcats in the sack, but we have something else of a great deal more importance - real intimacy.

**2120 So. Michigan Avenue**

"Fez, man; this is the single coolest thing that's ever happened to me in my whole life. This is way better than the great nacho cheese incident of '75. It's even better than the time Leon Miller got his dick caught in that long neck bottle of root beer. And that was funny. I mean damn funny. I never thought anything would top that and this totally tops it."

We drop the old couch in the middle of the floor and stand back to take it in. It looks much better in our new pad than it did on my brother Randy's front porch. It still smells like dog really bad, since it was used for their bed, and it probably has a lot of fleas, but without a dog around I'm sure the fleas will just starve and die. Something bites at my neck and I smack the spot a few times. Strange.

"I cannot believe we have this great apartment that is all ours. Now all we are needing is slutty women."

I tell Fez to give me a five. If it weren't Thanksgiving, this apartment would be filled with sluts. Like, five or six of them in bikinis. And they'd want us bad man, because they'd know all about how we have this great apartment. He agrees and says in his country, the best sluts are found at Mass, something I don't think we have in America. But could you imagine if we did!

"Hey, we could go to Forman's this afternoon. Laurie's going to be there and I think we both know she'll do it with anybody if she's bored enough."

"I don't ever want to do it with her again," pouts Fez. "She is the slut who broke my heart into itty bitty pieces."

He doesn't add the part where she enjoyed it, absolutely delighted in it with a maniacal sneer and bubblegum pink lip gloss. There's nothing I can say to comfort him that wouldn't sound fruity or wrong, so I jump up from the couch and yell, "Well, I'm going!"

He chases me to the shower, as if soaping off the dog smell will turn her on. I've done it with Laurie Forman in places that smell worse that this apartment and our clothes after spending time at my brothers' house. We wins the race, so I leave him to shower while I rifle through all my ass-hugging jeans. If I play my cards right, this could work out perfectly. One or both of us can nail Laurie and I can ask Mrs. Forman for a can of disinfecting spray. Not for Laurie, for the couch.

**Bad Company**

It's not yet eleven am and already I've had a full day. It occurs to me that if I'd had a little bit of patience that Eric and I could have had our first time _on the coats._ Crap, that would have been a nice memory. I stretch and fold my arm behind my head, watching Robert Plant the spider lower himself on a silken thread. He swings his tiny body to the window and disappears through a crack in the sill. Perhaps our demonstration this morning has inspired him to get some freaky lovin' of his own or maybe he packed everything he owns into a tiny piece of silk tied to the end of a stick and he's out of here. It's of no matter, I suppose, as his life is his own.

After Eric's nap, I'm thinking we should take a shower together. In a few hours people will be arriving and I just think it would be a good idea if we weren't sweaty and unkempt. I throw my clothes back on and start planning the day. I think I'll wear my newest Pink Floyd t-shirt later on and maybe double condition my hair. I dig for clean socks and notice in the mirror that a bleary-eyed Eric is watching me. All I can think to say is, "I told you it would be fun."

He smiles at me goofy and I reciprocate, our attention broken when the outside door slams. Eric dresses quickly and I investigate, expecting to find Kelso, Fez and Leo waiting on the couch. I find no one and check the door - I know I heard it - and it's unlocked.

Deciding they must be looking for us upstairs, I turn but don't get two steps before the wind is knocked out of me. Eric's startled yelp gives rise to the invader's wild giggling and I turn to see Donna and Jackie laughing their asses off, thrilled to have scared us.

Donna tosses her purse on the table and throws herself back on the couch. "You should have seen your faces." Her smile is wide and I notice how much makeup she is wearing, which is a lot more than I've ever seen on her. So much that it looks badly unnatural and her arms are across the back of the couch like she's waiting for the nail polish to dry. Poor Donna, living with Jackie has fried her brain but good.

Jackie sits beside her and tells me it's holiday break and they're all ours for a week. When I ask what that means, Jackie beams and states proudly, "That's right Steven. I've decided to give you another chance."

I look at Eric with the same uncertainty and confusion he mirrors back. My horoscope said expect the unexpected and it was right. I didn't expect this - not any time soon or, actually, anytime ever. Donna takes Eric's hand and leads him to the kitchen, telling him that Jackie and I want to be alone.

As I watch them disappear behind the door, I wonder what he'll do, as we never really prepared for this situation. I kick on the tube and take my favorite chair, hiding behind my sunglasses while I try to figure out what to say. I know she thinks I'm doing some of my infamous zen bullshit. The glasses go on and she goes off, that's always been the drill. Just thinking about that reminds me why it never worked out for us. She was always so demanding and disappointed, so unable to be pleased. She never seemed to get the fact that I'm just a kid, too; only fourteen months older than she.

I use these glasses to buy myself time; time to figure out what to say or do and how to express it in a way that won't cause her to implode. At this moment, I can think of nothing. "So how's your fat aunt Lois?"

"Fine. And not that you asked, but Chicago is great."

I smile and say great. It's really, really great, because - it just really is. She looks at me and I can tell I've done it. She's come here excited and with at least six months worth of crap to tell me, including how she has every thing in life at her command but her dream man. She looks so beautiful, staring at me, waiting for me to say words that she doesn't know will never come. She's moved to the edge of her seat, so expectant, as if I'll throw myself to the floor and vow to follow her home. I try to move my mouth, but my bottom lip quivers and all I can expel is air.

At one time, I loved her as much as I felt capable of loving another person. I know she has to be told the truth, in terms that aren't uncertain. After every thing we've been through and how much we have hurt each other over the years, damn it, I care about her feelings. She's been talking to me and I haven't heard a word.

"I said I work part-time at the aquarium, Steven. So far all my advanced classes this year will apply to the university and I'll only be one semester behind Donna."

"That's really ..."

"Yeah, great - I know. That's all you've said to me since I got here. Don't you know any other words?"

"Well, Eric and I ... work full time at the Holiday hotel. And ... we ..." I stumble repeatedly, not sure how to say it. I know I'm screwed when she kneels before me and looks at me with all the tenderness and sincerity I'd hoped to see in her eyes when we were together.

"I know I've been unfair to you, Steven. I've learned so much in Chicago - grown a lot and changed. I'm not even a cheerleader anymore. Let's forget all the bad things that happened and that we said. I'm ready for us to ..."

Before she can finish the sentence, the door flys open and angry footsteps shake every stair. Donna is crying hard. She grabs Jackie's arm and jerks her up and away from me, as if the proximity would poison her. "We're going home, Jackie!" Eric stands at the stairs with his hand over the red spot on his cheek, staring ahead like he just doesn't believe it. Of course, he would never say anything, never complain - I suppose he even thinks he deserves it for some warped reason. I used to think it was hilarious when Donna smacked him around, but this pisses me off. Before I can give her hell about it, she slaps me so hard my glasses fall to the floor.

"Let go of me you crazy lumberjack!" Jackie twists free and glares at her, but Donna takes her by the hand and tells her they're going home NOW. Eric begs her to wait and she turns, still crying, and says that we can both go to hell. Well, that whole scene went well, I think. The both of us staring glassy-eyed at the door like retards only makes the experience more vivid.

**The 360  
Reginald Forman: Angry Dad**

You don't know what pissed is until you've got a couple of drunken queers living in your basement. I should have sent Eric's ass to military school on his fifth birthday, which was quite possibly his turning point. I yelled at Marty for babying Eric, terrified that some of Marty's fairy dust might shake off and hit my son. I told Eric to go play with Donna and the next thing I know, I found him in the bathroom trying to flush her barbie down the john. I was just about to laugh when his mother walked in and reprimanded him. He apologized profusely to the stupid doll and kissed its soggy head. The minute Kitty walked away I took her from him and showed him the right way to treat a lady doll. I helped him put on her pretty flower dress and we placed her on the sink to dry. I took his hand and led him down the stairs, anxious to give him my present. In that fateful moment, I thrust a GI Joe soldier in his hand. I know damn well that act, which seemed harmless at the time and took less than a minute, must have been the defining moment that snapped him. G-d help me, I taught him to play with boys!

**The 360  
Jackie Burkhardt: Jilted Lover**

I can't talk right now. Donna throws herself across the bed and is crying so hard that her eyes are going to be all bloodshot and gross. This is not happening. Oh my G-d, this is just like what happened to Diana Seiberling on _All My Tomorrows_ and she became a major crazy bitch and got frown lines.

I loved Steven. I was going to take him home with me and we were going to get married one day. The nursery was going to be lavender with little plush unicorns everywhere. It's not fair! He never - he never really loved me at all. We did it a lot because we both like doing it, but everything - EVERY SINGLE WORD he ever said to me was a lie. What's wrong with me? Why does everybody leave?

**The 360  
Donna Pinciotti: High School Sweetheart**

I can't help but wonder how long this has been going on behind my back. When I refused Eric's ring, did he give it to Hyde? The both of them have been laughing at me, maybe for years. I just don't understand how I could not know.

Everything was going to be so perfect. Jackie and I were going to ask Eric and Hyde to split an apartment with us in Chicago and it was going to be like old times, like nothing ever changed. Like I never met that asshole Todd ... as if he never gave me a black eye.

I couldn't wait to get here - now I can't wait to go back. My world has revolved around Eric's for so long that I don't think I'll get over this. Everyone I get close to hurts me. Todd and Eric and Hyde ... three more names added to the succession of people who've betrayed and humiliated me.

**The 360  
Burton Leonard Wyrick: Stoned as fuck _(Leo, man)_ **

I had no idea there was going to be entertainment, man. I just stopped by to smoke a little pot and ask Hyde who the guy in the hat is from those movies because it's been bothering me all week. Actually, I have some pot at home but my room mate, Benny, is crowding me out with his bullshit, man. I asked him to keep the splashing to a minimum; I asked him a lot of things nicely but he doesn't dignify anything that comes out of my mouth with a response. I have got to get a new pad, man. I am not good with heavy situations.

**The 360  
Laurie Forman: Wildly Entertained**

I had no sooner walked through the front door when I saw Donna beating the living hell out of my idiot brother. What I'm saying is I arrived just in time. So he finally stopped his whining and moved on, so what did she expect? Not that I'm sorry she's mad because ... I'm just not. I mean, the two of them are a never ending drama with a capital WHO CARES. I can't wait to find out who he cheated with - Jerry and I didn't just drive 250 miles for a turkey dinner.

**The 360  
Eric David Forman: The Dreams We Had**

Things were not supposed to happen this way. She moved on, she left - in the back of my mind I was sure she would think it was cute or something. At least I hoped that she wouldn't say _I hate you, Eric_ and then slap me, which is exactly what she did. I never thought she'd call me sick. My best friend, practically since we were in the embryonic stage, hates me. It's not grief I feel, it's shock and disbelief.

Hyde doesn't know what to say and I know he's angry, I just hope not at me. For a second I think he's going to frog me, but he slips his arm around me and smiles, asking if I think they're mad at us. I think I shouldn't have told Donna like I did. I wanted to be out with it and quick. I had to be direct; I could tell she wanted me to kiss her the minute we got to the kitchen. Ignoring that would have caused even more trouble and if I'd have waited too long then the house would be full of people circling to throw in their two cents.

I thought my dad finding out would be the worst thing ever, because I was sure he would disown me. I didn't think he would be mad for a few days, like when I scratched the car. I thought he would do something devastating and permanent, something I couldn't live with. I imagined he would say to me all the things Donna just did. I guess I don't know the people in my life so well.

The phone rings and I know it's Mr. Pinciotti because my dad stomps out the door, yelling that we better not have used _the b word_ to the girls. Not long later I hear my car sputtering in the driveway like it does when you don't turn the key just right. Dammit, Red doesn't have any right to take my car! I didn't do anything wrong. I run to the door and see Donna behind the wheel. I stand in front of her with my hands on the hood and tell her to get out, but she doesn't listen. Never has listened to me, so why would she start now. I jump in the passenger side before she can lean over to lock the door and she peels out of the drive before my door is closed completely.

Things will be alright; I know they will. This is Donna I'm with and she's pissed, an emotion she does so good since I've given her years of steady practice. She's plenty mad but she'd never hurt us; she just needs to slow down the car a little. The Cruiser just wasn't designed to go faster than thirty five miles per hour. She'll burn off her anger after she screams at me for a while, tells me it's all my fault she's unhappy and blames me for not waiting for her. I turn the radio on low and wait for the avalanche to bury me, but she punishes me with thick and uncomfortable silence instead. I change the station and find a song I like, fiddling in an exaggerated way to demand her attention, but she won't give it. The song changes to a Styx ballad, which is Donna's all time big favorite song in the history of the world, one she used to sing in the shower, to her cat and in bed with me. I reach to change the station and she barks a hateful "Stop!", which I do immediately. I fold my hands in my lap and sigh, sure she's working herself up for an explosion. Instead she sings to herself in a sad whisper, "I remember childhood friends and the dreams we had."

Her tears begin a slow slide down red irritated skin, made worse when she swipes at it constantly with her shirt sleeve. It hurts me to see her so sad, but I tell her, because I feel it's important that she know she was the one to sail away first.

"That's crap, Eric. I can't give up school and a future and you know that."

"I never wanted you to feel like you had to settle on a substandard life with me."

She bangs the steering wheel with her fist hard. "That's not what I meant!"

"You knew when you left that I couldn't follow you, Donna." I say it as softly and non accusator as I can. "It hurt bad when we said goodbye and I didn't want to believe it, but I knew it was for good this time. I'm surprised you didn't come home with a boyfriend. By this time next year, maybe you'll even be married to someone."

She's quiet and her look is purely stunned, from wide hurting eyes to quivering lips. "Donna, you moved on when you left here. Don't be mad at me for building a new life."

"How long?" She nails me between the eyes with sudden venom. "How long have you and Hyde - you know. How long behind my back?"

"Hyde and I never did anything when I was with you. We never talked about it or thought about it. We didn't do anything wrong."

"I didn't ask what you did; I know what you're doing. I asked how long?"

"A few months after you left, we kind of got together."

"Kind of?" she screams, then mumbles under her breath so I can barely hear, "What sort of stupid thing is that to say."

"It's true."

"Was I gone long, Eric? Before you two ... are you in love or is this just physical?"

"Donna," I don't know what to say or how to say it. Hyde finds song lyrics to express something he's got anxiety about, but I'm not quick like he. I need time to mull over my zingers before I spring them on an unwitting victim. "Hyde and I ... are a family. We're not just together, we're ... I don't know how to explain it."

She decides it can't be very serious, which cuts me deeply because what does she know about it other than it doesn't involve her. I cringe that I even thought that; I don't want Donna to hurt. I obviously mistook the depth of her emotion in regards to me. Months of lying in my bed like a zombie waiting for the phone to ring must have twisted my perception. All the time I spent praying that she would show up and say she was all wrong to leave must have distorted reality in a big way. I bite back hard on my tongue, afraid to make this situation any worse than it is, because I'm just not sure I can imagine worse.

"You don't have anything to say?"

I clear my throat. "He values me. I'm special to him. He loves only me and I'm more than good enough, because he tells me all the time. We're not like you, Donna."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Hyde doesn't need more than me. He's not using me as a placeholder while he searches for something or someone better. He wants everything that comes to come to us together. He doesn't make me feel settled for."

She hits the brake hard and we stop with a violent and sudden jerk, each thrown slightly forward. She braces herself on the steering wheel, I grab hold of the dash and everything stops. She looks at me and she's stopped crying, stopped yelling, stopped glaring; she's even holding her breath. I beg her to tell me why she's so angry. It was her decision to go and mine to stay. There was no huge blowout like Hyde had with Jackie. Donna said bye; she'd see me around, and didn't call, write or visit for over six months. I ask how she can be so unfair, because I don't understand what's really going on here.

The overwhelming sense of sadness that marks her face breaks my heart. She says, a little sarcastically, that the last thing she wants to be is unfair to anyone. Then she turns the car around to take us home, but passes our block like she just doesn't know what to do. It begins to snow large, soft flakes and we just drive, not saying a hell of a lot but not killing each other.

:)

to be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

* Come Sail Away by Styx  
* Feel Like Making Love by Bad Company


	11. The Point of No Return

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
Jennifer Ryan  
02/21/07

:)

**The Point Demons Guard**

I locked myself in the bathroom once I figured out Laurie was home. As a matter of fact, until Forman gets back, I'm taking up residence right fucking here. It won't be easy; Red's been at the door three times and now the queen herself stalks the hallway. When she demands to know how long even I can possibly play with myself, the war is on. I fling open the door and she greets me in her usual manner.

"Hello, orphan. Don't you shine up like a new penny? Picking out a new mommy and daddy today?"

"Hello, whore. Is that your new pimp I saw downstairs?"

I smile, she glares and we stare each other down, hands at our gun belts and on the ready until Red breaks between us. "What the hell were you doing in there for so long?"

"He was playing with himself, daddy."

He looks at me in disgust and calls me a dumb ass, then shuts the door in my face. Dammit, it's been a while since I had a turn being the dumb ass, what with Eric, Kelso and Fez providing constant distraction.

Eric gallops up the stairs and his mother yells behind him to hurry and, mercifully, for Laurie to come down and help. I inform Eric that I was forced to shower without him and that if he cared about building a relationship, he would have been slippery, soapy and naked right beside me. It is at this point Red exits the bathroom and his eyes cross. Crap. He looks angrily at the floor, hands thrust into his pockets, and only when he gets to the top of the stairs does he look back and exclaim, "Jesus Christ."

"So did you and Donna hash things out or what?"

"I think so. She's mad - like, super pissed. Remember when Kelso set off that bottle rocket in her doll house? It's like that, times ... a million."

"So, it's nowhere near as bad as we thought is what you're saying?" He agrees and I shove him in the bathroom as he babbles about whatever; I'm not really listening until he stops short and asks what I've done to my hair.

"It's curlier or something." He reaches out to squeeze a lock and I bat him away. "It's called conditioner, Forman. Try some."

"It looks longer and ... smoother. Holy crap, you didn't use my moms hot rollers, did you?"

"Fuck no, why would you even say something so stupid. Take a shower and I'll get your clothes." Busted. I didn't spend almost two hours alone in that bathroom just playing with myself. I think my hair turned out nice. I pick at it in the mirror over Erics' dresser while I dig for one of his geeky shirts.

I hear the guests arriving and then Kitty's nervous, uncomfortable laughter, which signals the entrance of her hypercritical mother. I lay Eric's stuff in the bathroom and make my way downstairs, anxious to sneak some turkey while everyone is distracted. I am Steven Caine, son of Kwai Chang, the apprentice to Po; my every movement as graceful and stealth as a Shaolin warrior should be. I peel back the foil slowly, revealing barely an inch of my succulent prey, before Marty sneaks up and whispers into my ear, "No fair peeking!"

I startle and chide him for freaking me out, then we do the cool cat hand shake thing that symbolizes we rock. He pinches off a chunk of bird and eats it quickly, in case someone walks in. "You know, Steven, when I was a kid on a top secret mission, I would pretend to be Sky King."

I laugh. "Eric pretends to be Spiderman."

"Still?" he laments. "G-d, how pathetic."

How can I not smile at that, the awful and hilarious truth. "You've got his number."

"Please tell me he's still nuts about Star Wars crap. I got him an AM radio that looks like the little white and blue robot."

"He'll flip. I guarantee it." I pull off a chunk of turkey for myself and replace the foil quickly before someone can bust us. Red comes through the door and spots Marty, which causes him to grumble and look at the floor. They share an awkward and lightening quick guy hug, the kind that says I'm only doing this because society demands it. Marty asks Red about the muffler shop and I take my leave, anxious to know what Kitty is so excited about. Her laughter and anxious chattering are so incessant and unnerving that I'm beginning to worry that something is wrong with her. She's often said her mother will be the death of her and now I'm starting to wonder. Man, I hope the booze is locked up tight. All this crazy family stress demands a circle.

**A Gathering of Angels**

Kelso falls to his knees and screams the lyrics with such foolish abandon it makes me laugh out loud. _"They say ... the sea ... turns so dark that you know it's time ... you see the sign._ Take it, Fez!"

_"They say ... the point ... demons guard is ... an ocean grave for all the brave._ Go, Leo!"

_"They say they need sailing men to show the way and leave today."_

We boo in unison and I give him the hardest time possible. "Way to screw up the song for everybody, Leo."

"That's the wrong part, Leo."

"I'm never going to like that song again now that you ruined it for me, Leo." Fez whines then takes a long drag from the pipe we're passing. "But, as a token gesture of friendship, I shall partake of this holiday weed."

Leo shakes his head in disbelief at his own stupidity. "You're like the best friends a guy could ever have."

The volume of the radio drops and I turn to see Eric behind me. "My dad sent me down with a message. Something about hop heads, devil music and his foot in your asses." He buries both hands in my hair and plumps the curls. "So, how do you guys like Hyde's new style? He used my moms hot rollers."

A chorus of "oooohs" and "aaaahs" surround me, but I'm too high to care. Kelso swears he knew it looked shinier and Fez gives it the thumbs up. Leo tells me I always have the best ideas, and dammit, he's right. "You know, if anyone asks where we are, don't tell them it's a basement, man. Tell them it's a Global Command Center." Eric perks immediately; I knew he'd like it. All those times Laurie and Red told us to quit hanging around the basement like losers - not losers, not a basement. It's a Global Command Center.

Kelso catches on to the possibilities this creates and demands to be made a super villain. "I could be ... Dr. Destructo." Fez asks why not Dr. Doobie and Kelsos excitement doubles.

"Because morons, the base ... Global Command Center is already under attack by the vindictive populace of jilted ex-girlfriend world." Leo blows a giant smoke ring in my face and I cough, then concentrate on the serious issue before the council. "I'm talking about women who are super pissed and they're armed. Armed with the crying thing and boobs and the whole bringing up everything you've ever done wrong in your life."

"Whoa," Kelso bounces in playful amazement, "are you telling me that Jackie and Donna are back!"

I see Eric's hand waving, trying to cut through the smoke, then stopping to make some animal shapes. He settles on a doggie that barks at me then bites my nose. I'd smack him, but I have to grab my nose to make sure it's all right. It feels so weird all I can do it squeeze it and try to mold it into another shape. Kelso asks to pet the dog and Eric let's him, babbling on about being totally, completely, really relaxed. "And they were here this morning, and they were mad. And Hyde's right - they had their boobs with them and - I just feel so ... nice."

"You heard that, Fez, they're here - with boobs. Laurie's home and now Jackie and Donna are back; it's a total boob smorgasbord."

Fez pulls up his bottom lip as far as her can then twists it in every possible direction. "I love this country and all the boobs and the women. And I love you, Steven Hyde and Eric Forman, because the women you have deserted are among the most desirable."

Eric takes offense and yelps that we didn't desert anybody. Fez counters that we stomped on their hearts, broke them into pieces, glued them back together and then broken them again. Well, as long as no one is being overly dramatic. Marty yells for us from the top of the stairs; it's turkey time. I could really go for some turkey right now, too. I kind of have the munchies.

We march to the dinning room single file, trying hard not to act stoned. I'm surprised to hear Bob's voice and shocked to see Jackie sitting at the table, looking down at her empty plate like she doesn't know what to say or do. Kelso and Fez sit on each side of her, engaging her in one of their pointless, idiotic conversations and she perks up immediately.

Kitty's parents sit across from her and Laurie and her "special friend" sit next to them. I can't decide who in this house I'd rather be farther from; that's the big problem. If I get too close to Red he'll ride me with his ever increasing inventory of insults, each an aggravating yet creative variation of "dumb ass". Kitty will try to cut my food, Laurie will hit me up with the orphan shit and Jackie will glare accusingly. I pull out a chair for Eric then I take the spot between he and grandma, figuring old lady cologne and powder is the best bet for getting through the next few hours. When she asks who I am again, I proudly state, a little loudly in case she's hard of hearing, but mainly just to be an jerk, "I'm dating your grandson."

Eric chuckles his little I'm stoned and diggin' it kind of laugh and I can't help but paste on my evil grin. The one that says, oh yeah, we're doing exactly what you think we are.

Much to my thrill, Laurie heard me and looks not quite angry, but disbelieving, like I just messed something up for her. I can't image what. Every time she comes home she asks for money and surely my nailing her brother won't interfere with that. I can see the wheels turning. She's trying to figure if Red knows and work out how she can use this to her advantage. It's funny to watch because I'm certain she doesn't know what to say. Even poor grandma is a little stuck and she just huffs and says, "Well!" as if I've done something undignified. Oh wait, I have, haven't I? Heh heh heh.

Red places the turkey on the table and uncle Marty winks at Eric and I, which further incites the queen whore who yells across the room, "Daddy, Eric and Hyde are perverts!" to which Red replies with sly disregard, "I know honey. Just pretend you don't notice and maybe they'll get bored with it."

Grandma leans forward and says she's never eaten dinner with a queer before, a comment which makes Marty smile and answer, "Maybe you have, but weren't aware of it."

"We have never had a queer person on our side of the family," grandma adds. "It must come from your side, Red."

He replies by driving the carving knife into the middle of the turkey with murderous force, then smiles and blusters, "Get the hell in here, Bob! I'm ready to get this holiday crap over with." Jackie's eyes grow wide, she hasn't had the privilege of seeing Red pissed like this. I've been living with it every day for months and it doesn't faze me the slightest bit, because I can see the conflict within him. Red doesn't know whether to be angry at grandma or join in with the ribbing. He wants to make a really killer fag joke, but doesn't quite know how. The thing is Red loves Eric way more than he will ever admit; adores his smart mouth, polo jerseys and all the cute little kid crap he does. It's something that's been terribly obvious to me since the day I came into this family; Laurie is Red's little girl, but Eric is his princess. And grandma's not wrong. It does seem to fall from his side of the tree.

Our eclectic little group joins hands to pray and gramma strikes again and gestures to Leo, "Who is the dirty hippie?"

I tell her he's my father, and that's enough to silence her. Kelso laughs softly, something I've come to recognize as the universal signal that he's farted. No one but Fez seems to notice or care so I close my eyes and try to concentrate on what I'm thankful for. My family. Eric. Eric's mom and dad. Leo, my confidante since childhood and the first person I met in Point Place who wasn't banging my mother. Edna, wherever she is, I hope she's found the happiness that's eluded her all her life. Bud, what can I say; the dick is my father, so here's hoping he's not dead in a ditch somewhere.

I squeeze Eric's hand and he presses back. I raise my eyes to look at him and he's already looking at me. The two of us are a family and now, finally, I have someone to take care of and someone to care about me. I'll never be alone again, deep in my soul I'm sure of it. I don't hear the front door slam behind me until Donna hollers,"AMEN!"

She's standing behind us with a bottle of alcohol in her hand and from the blush of her cheeks and the muss of her hair, it's obvious she's knee walking drunk. "Hail, hail, the gangs all here!" She stumbles and laughs, and really it would be quite sad if it weren't so pathetic. I'm all for tying one on and making an ass out of myself, it's an entertaining way to pass a boring weekend, but Donna's done this before.

I don't even want to think the A-word in relation to her, but if I'm honest with myself ... it's a slow and pointless slide she's descending. Bob, Red and I stand at the same time, none of us exactly sure what to do. Donna walks over to Eric and throws her arms around him, squeezing him tightly and about to fall over. He guides her to his lap, places a gentle hand on her cheek and says hi. She grins shyly and says it back, her almost empty bottle of I don't want to know what hitting the floor.

Kelso asks if Donna wants to sit on his lap, too, so Red smacks him upside the back of the head. Donna laughs and smiles, and damn, she's in trouble if she's not pissed at Kelso. "I'm sailing away, Eric." She says it so quietly and so sadly that it's clear she really believes it. She doesn't even realize she's cried so long that she's rubbed off all her makeup; the heavy makeup I thought was tacky but now see was covering a black eye. Her father notices, too; everyone does, and Jackie looks so guilty, like a naughty little girl keeping a secret. Eric wraps his arms around Donna and she buries her head on his shoulder and cries, singing faintly, "I've got be free."

Grandma, the mistress of tact, asks obtrusively and unabashed, "So he left her for him?"

Not one to be outshone, Laurie stands and yanks Jerry, or is it Larry, out of his chair as she announces defiantly, "I'm pregnant!"

That comment sobers us all, and good. For a brief second it looks like Red's heart is breaking, but he covers for it quickly and smiles. "Of course you are, honey. He throws down his napkin and stands, not angry, not hurt, not readable at all. He walks calmly to the kitchen and I hear him pop the top off a beer. Eric hugs a softly sniffling Donna tighter, his disappointment heartbreakingly evident. Kitty is on automatic pilot, giggling a bit nervously as she stands up and dips a giant scoop of mashed potatoes for everyone. Laurie seems vaguely disappointed that nobody dropped dead over her news and the rest of us look as uncomfortable as we are. I mean, the whore could have let us eat first.

**Point of No Return**

The Toyota is fueled up and the guys pile in the back while Eric runs back in the house for one more nervous pee. Chicago is a long drive, even on deserted holiday roads, and I don't plan to break for anything until we hit Janesville. Eric dives into the passenger seat with a giant bag of pretzels, which I quickly confiscate. "Is this some kind of joke, Forman. Salty pretzels will make you drink and if you drink anything I'll have to stop every five blocks so you can piss."

"I can't help it, when I'm nervous I've got to go - a lot."

I throw the bag into the back and Fez and Kelso rip into it quickly. Before I can take off, the back door opens and Jackie jumps in. Great. I should have been out of this driveway three bathroom breaks ago. I nail her through the rear view mirror and tell her to get out of the car.

"No, Steven, I'm going, too. And if you don't like it," she challenges, "tough."

Kelso laughs at the burn and asks if I'm going to let her talk to me like that. I assure him I'm not and point out, in a very forceful tone, that we're not going to the mall.

"I'm going, Steven. You might as well just drive the damn car before somebody else tries to get in - like Bob."

Crap. We're not even to the interstate before her reflection is glaring at me, begging for acknowledgment and even confrontation. "Don't do it, Jackie. We had this conversation six months ago. You don't have any right to be mad at me or expect anything of me or ... or ... anything. So just don't."

She eyes me without flinching and says calmly that she didn't say a word and that I'm paranoid. Looking proud, Kelso puts his arm around her and tells me to lay off his woman. "That's right, Hyde. Jackie and I are back together."

"Ewwwww." She pushes away his arm like it's venomous and grabs the pretzel bag from his lap.

"Jackie, G-d!" He rolls his eyes. "I'm going to the Arther Grant School of Bartending. I'm finally getting my act together. I can support you and look damn good doing it."

She looks at him as if she's even more disgusted, something I didn't realize was possible. "Is that the same place that teaches casino sciences and advertises in the classifieds?"

He nods in self-congratulations and confirms her suspicions. "I know what you're thinking, Jackie, but they don't take just anybody. You gotta have $104 up front just to start."

They keep each other busy with their self-absorbed squabbling and poor Fez nods off to sleep. Just when I'm certain their incessant yapping is about to hypnotize me, Eric puts his hand on my knee. I smile lovingly and then he tells me, "I've got to go bad."

Crap. We're thirty-four minutes into our trip. I pull over next to a field and let him go whiz in the corn. Kelso leans into the front seat so he can tell me in my ear that I'm pistol whipped. I swat him in the nose and he backs off, but I decide that's not good enough, so I lean over the seat to frog the hell out of him. When Jackie and I were going out he never missed a chance to tell me I was pussey whipped, and I was, the fact is not lost on me.

But Kelso being right never fails to enrage me, so I lay into him good. He struggles and pleads but I'm long passed the point of no return. I've had it, had it with this whole screwed up day and with grandmas, sisters and ex-girlfriends. I smack him some more to make up for the fact that Laurie's knocked up and Eric was a hairs' breath from the sweet freedom I've been busting my ass to provide. I give him a purple nerple because Laurie breezed through and took away everything and because she thoughoully enjoyed doing it. And since he was stupid enough to screw her, I figure he deserves a couple of sores not caused by her venereal disease. Once I cut him a break and sit back to catch my breath, he inches closer to apologize and nerples me back. Dammit.

He jumps out of the car and runs to the field, seeking protection from Eric, no doubt. I roll down the window and smoke one as I watch the idiots try to pee down the cornstalks. I flip on the radio and Jackie is watching me again.

"Say it Jackie, it's just you and me and Fez now."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know, _I want to get married in a pink princess costume and ride on a pegasus, Steven. I want our babies to be named Byron and Shelley_."

"I never once said that," she flares with indignation.

I pitch my cigarette out the window and tell her she was thinking it. She rolls her eyes at me and I turn up the radio. She loves this song, I love this song, it's a completely loveable tune, so maybe hearing it will cool her off. I look out the window and sing to the cornfield "I woke up this morning and the sun was gone. I turned on some music to start my day."

She smiles and sings the rest along with me. "I lost myself in a familiar song. I closed my eyes and I slipped away."

Eric and Kelso come back and it looks like maybe young Kelso got another frogging at the hands of my scrawny baby. "Man, you guys are all having a really bad day! I thought gay people were nonviolent."

"No, dumb ass, Indians are nonviolent. Gay people are crazy." Then I tell him I'm a little bit sorry, but not sorry all the way, and he reciprocates with the happy, stupid grin that says it's over and forgotten.

Fez snores softly and the four of us sing, "I dream of a girl I used to know. I closed my eyes and she slipped away."

One by one, they succumb to boredome induced slumber, leaving Eric and I to pilot. Now that he and I are alone, I ask if he's going to be alright and quiz him about Laurie. We agree the thought of Laurie as anyone's mother is a truly frightening prospect, but what can we do. At least the baby will have stellar grandparents and uncles to safeguard her ... or him.

We're both a little surprised she didn't have an abortion. That probably sounds hateful but the fact is when Jeanie Wilder - her best friend throughout most of high school - ended up pregnant, Laurie tried to help her get rid of it with mega doses of somebody else's birth control pills and a bottle of brandy, a stunt which landed Jeanie in the emergency room. Eventually, Laurie and her drunkard friends had a mock baby shower and they gave the girl a wire coat hanger as a present. She's never missed a chance to laugh about how much having kids would suck and how Jeanie's life was over. I never hated Laurie so much as I did then and I wondered if Edna and her friends had the same conversation about me. I never found out how things turned out for Jeanie's poor baby, either, or if he was ever even born.

Eric nods off next and I try to focus on something less depressing, like the reason for our trip. I watch the stars scattered across the Heavens, as if they are a trail of bread crumbs leading to our destination. The same stars Donna watched as Jackie and Bob rocked her to sleep will be the same ones that mutherfucker Todd sees when my fist collides with his face.

:)

To be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

* More Than A Feeling by Boston  
* Point of Know Return by Kansas  
* Come Sail Away by Styx


	12. Taking it to the Streets

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
Jennifer Ryan  
04/17/07

:)

**Taking It To The Streets**

A funny thing happened when we arrived at Todd's apartment. I knocked on the door and introduced myself as Donna's friend, Eric as her ex and Kelso and Fez as our foster children. The moron had the nerve to scoff at my prismatic retinue, which was completely expected. Then I hit him in the face so damn hard I broke his nose.

Now, here's the rub: would it have killed anybody to tell me his dad is a cop? The gentleman was kind enough to label me a filthy punk and arrest me while his son cussed me out and Kelso pointed and snickered like the eleven year old girl he is. I'd planned to have the Toyota back in the driveway before morning, not to be spending the rest of the week in the slammer.

I stick my nose through the bars and sigh. Jail in Chicago is different than jail in Point Place and probably different from anything else we have in Wisconsin, really. There's a lot of graffiti on the walls here and most of it involves some variation of the f word. I like it. When I was in holding back home, the matron yelled at me when I tried to write on the wall and then again because I was slouching. That's something I don't see happening here.

My cell mates compliment the drab environment by making scary faces at me and chain smoking. Mr. Giant guy - head shaved, tattoos everywhere and about three hundred pounds of muscle in a denim vest - comes up behind me and leans close. "What you here for?"

I reach for his cigarette and he lets me take it, so I feel I owe him nothing less than the honest truth. "I urinated on my probation officer. What about you, man?"

His eyes grow wide and he swears, backing into the corner farthest from me and says he has too many unpaid speeding tickets. I grin and he turns his attention to the little guy sitting next to him, striking up a conversation about anything that can distract from where we are. I turn away and concentrate on holding the bars, since that's what they do in the movies, and I don't know what else to do.

The guard brings Eric through the door and the look on his face tells me something is very wrong. When his hand reaches over to cover mine, I brace myself for whatever sorry news is to come.

"Hyde, I ..." he stumbles. "I know it's only been four hours but ... I met somebody in the parking lot. We just hit it off, you know." I exhale in relief and call him an ass, which he doesn't hear over his self-congratulatory chuckling. "No seriously, I'm really proud of the way you kicked that guys ass. I mean, he was bigger than you, but you didn't care, you just walked up and WHAM!"

"I'm glad you find my behavior admirable, Forman. So what are the chances of my getting out of here before Monday?"

"Not promising," he says solemnly, "but I will wait for you. I want you to know that. I'll wait two, maybe even three days, if I have to."

"Of course you will," I grin, pressing my nose to his. "I have the car keys." I almost kiss him before realize I've forgotten myself. There are way too many stereotypes eye balling us. I might be here a few days and I don't want to get picked on because I'm new or possibly fall in with a bad crowd.

I find I'm too late when the unwashed masses part for a gentleman I hadn't yet noticed. He's even taller and bigger than the first guy, but black and just as bald. He rises from the bench and heads straight for me, looking every inch the tough guy, though he doesn't seem angry or as if he has something to prove.

His eyes follow Eric's every jitter and he lays his hand on my shoulder very gently, asking in a deep baritone that seems strangely shy, "Is he yours?"

Eric's eyes widen in fearful surprise and he tenses visibly. I relish every sweet and hilarious second of his nervous disbelief, then proudly exclaim that not only is he mine, he's also for rent.

Our new friend gets down on one knee and pleads to me with soft, surprising reverence, "Can I ... can I sing to him? Please."

Mere seconds ago I despaired in the knowledge that a dillhole like Michael Kelso walks a free man while I languish in this filthy cell. And now - and NOW, some love struck flake wants to sing to Forman? This approaches the unreal and was well worth the road trip. "Of course you can sing to him, man. I'd actually be offended if you didn't."

He introduces himself as Louis and tells my Eric that he's one beautiful baby. He tries to take Eric's hand in his, but beautiful baby's jaw drops and he jerks back. I grab him so he can't escape and tell him under my breath, "Don't be rude, Forman. He wants to hold you. LET HIM."

An odd, high-pitched noise that I can't describe escapes Eric's petrified throat and he shakes his head tightly from side to side like a child being forced to kiss his gramma. And Louis looks up at him with such earnest adoration that I'm ready to send them home together. Eric studies the ceiling as Louis takes his hand, crooning slowly in a near whisper, _"I bless the day I found you. I want to stay around you. And so I beg you, let it be me." _

I suppose the guys in back know better than to laugh, but when Louis is finished I intend to applaud. I lean against the wall, savoring each second of Eric's understandable yet hilarious mortification. We lock eyes and time stands still as I mouth the words Louis sings to him. _"Now and forever, let it be me."_

Todd's old man, Officer "Chuckles" Dunleavy, chooses Louis' serenade as the perfect time to join us, startling all save Louis himself, who clearly isn't finished courting my idiot beloved. Kelso stands back, laughing loud at the scene, but Officer Dunleavy looks confused and disgusted. He asks what the hell we think we're doing and I explain with the coolest of calm that no actual thought was required. I make clear that my new friend Louis is fawning over my boyfriend for reasons that are both unclear and unimportant. And since I'm such a nice guy, I not only said he should go for it, I gave him some suggestions.

"Are you seriously telling me that you boys are queer?"

Before I can counter that Forman is, Fez volunteers that both Eric and I are sweet little pixies sprinkling magical fairy dust all over each others bodies. Dunleavy's eyes cross, kind of like Reds' do when anyone talks about "the big Q" out loud. It would even be funny if this guy weren't the enemy.

When he unlocks the door and tells me to step out, I steel myself for a fight and move forward slowly. Eric, who has been chicken shit his entire life, decides now is the time to take a stand. My gangly little protector shields me with his body and argues. "Whatever you're planning, you won't get away with it, okay. My dad fought in Korea and he is ... absolutely ... nuts." Our group nods in remorseful agreement, as if to acknowledge how tragic it is when a man comes back from war insane. Of course, Red went there that way; it's just that most people don't know that.

"You're gonna walk out of here without a word and go home. If anyone finds out a pansy broke my son's nose, I'm going to track you down in Wisconsin and toss your ass back in this cell. All four of you." For the first time I notice Jackie standing back from us, glad to not be included.

"This is bullshit," I snarl. "Your son hit a woman. He gave Donna a black eye."

"And I'll deal with it. You kids get the hell out of here before I change my mind."

He leads us to the desk sergeant, from whom I retrieve my wallet, keys, smokes and lucky pocket comb, and only once I ensure that all my goodies are accounted for do I notice Kelso is missing. It's not cold enough that he could have gotten his tongue stuck to something and there are very few women on this side of the building. Eric says it would be best if we go home without him, an idea I feel has promise.

Lucky for Kelso, he's already in the car, which is in the parking lot across the street, facing the police station. Smoke pours from the slightly cracked back window and Eric breaks into a frantic run when he realizes that his fathers Toyota has been converted into a bong. He yanks the door open to yell but stops short at something I can't see until I'm closer. Kelso is blind stoned and so is the German Shepherd on his lap.

"Check it out you guys; the dog is a cop! Get it? He's a drug dog and I'm giving him drugs."

I advise everyone to get into the car quick, before all the smoke escapes. A disbelieving Eric has to be shoved in. "My dad's going to notice that his car smells like the basement. Kelso, you dumb ass!"

"It's a three hour drive, Forman, it'll air out," I promise. "Everybody just relax and take really deep breaths."

As soon as I open the driver's side door, Jackie pushes past me so she can sit between Eric and me. "I'm not sitting next to that animal, Steven." Kelso takes umbrage and defends his new pet, but Jackie counters, "I was talking about you, you spastic retard."

We all laugh and I kick back for a few moments of happy reflection before starting the car. Smoking grass in front of a police station with one of their drug dogs is the kind of moment a man likes to savor. We'll be home by lunch and so what that Red will flip. Taking the Toyota was a decision made based on economics and safety, something he'll respect. Besides, I'll tell him Eric's the one who hit Todd. He'll be so proud that he'll probably just let us keep the damn car.

Our return trip is a quiet one and once we hit Lake Shore, the windows come down so the car can air out at 50 mph. We should have been home hours ago, but I'm not sorry when I see Lake Michigan in the light of day. G-d, how I miss the soft and subtle sparkling beauty of water. Last night we took a different route, spent two hours lost in a maze of subdivisions, one way streets, and construction zones until Jackie had a fit. I sent her into an A & P to ask for directions and we continued the hunt for our quarry, missing the sweet shoreline in its entirety.

It's of particular interest to me that the name of the path we travel is Lake Shore Drive; LSD, man, L-S-D! Despite the cold, sea birds circle the water and dive. I think of how pretty and carefree they are, how they fly all around ... _'till somebody shoots you down._

I don't realize I'm singing aloud until Fez tells me that he loves that song. All but he and I sleep now. Kelso has his arms full of dog, Jackie uses Eric for a pillow and Fez and I have a long talk for the first time since I don't know when. He's glad Eric and I are together because it's made me less of a bastard. He's meeting a lot of women at the salon; meeting so many and having such a good time that he's thinking about taking technical classes to become a licensed cosmetologist. It seems everyone is finding his niche but me. Fez will do hair, Kelso will serve drinks, the girls will get fancy degrees and Eric, maybe one day if I can somehow swing it, will be a teacher or psychologist or whatever it is he's considering this week.

After all this, will I still be a waiter? Will I have a say in the matter? I don't know what to do, but I don't want to be the only one left behind.

**The Shape of Things to Come**

Yesterday morning Red took Jerry to the Price-Mart to see if his old boss had a job opening and that was it for ol' Jerry. He really wasn't planning on the working thing, just wanted to hang around the house rent free and fuck Laurie. After the lovebirds conferred by shouting match, they came to the sickening consensus that the baby probably isn't even his and that he was never going to marry her anyway.

It's well passed midnight and I sit at the kitchen table with Eric on my lap and we watch the two like the inevitable train wreck we knew they were. This 140 pound, greasy haired, effeminate jackass that Laurie - for some reason - drug home is yelling about all this shit being way too heavy. Then he says he doesn't support his other kids so why would he waste money on this one.

Time is frozen until I feel Kitty's hand on my shoulder and look up. She's as disbelieving as we are. Jerry is going and no one's really sorry but Laurie. None of us liked him. Though we've known him less than a week, I think it's safe to say no one wanted to know more. He's presented himself as a temperamental selfish dick, much like he is right now, except to Red for whom he played the role of Eddie Haskell. Jerry walks out the sliding door and Laurie turns to face us with tears streaming down her cheeks.

I tighten my grip around Eric's waist and bury my head in his side, promising silently that I will never leave and that I will definitely never be like Jerry. There are so many things I could say to Laurie right now, most of them cruel and none of them appropriate. I feel sorry for her, I really do, but I feel more sorry for this baby. She looks at her mother and at us, then says something I don't hear before she tromps up the stairs.

All the noise wakes Red and Marty, who appear in the kitchen looking confused. Kitty tightens the belt on her terry cloth bathrobe and asks if anyone else wants pancakes. Nobody does, but we eat together politely and have a civilized, if tense, family conversation. We introduce distractions in turn, from last night's episode of WKRP in Cincinnati to the new Pope. The whole Jonestown thing that has dominated the news for weeks quickly becomes the wrong topic; I've never seen Red look so damned depressed. The whole heart attack thing, the doctor said, was a warning; a preview of things to come if Red can't get his act together. I've never known the man not to be stressed, angry and worried all at the same time. Crappy jobs, no money, surrounded by a bunch of dumb asses and now his wife makes him drink decaffeinated coffee. Sometimes, when I see him unguarded, he looks like one more bad knock will cause him to crumble. I've felt that way many times before, so I recognize it easily and it hurts to see it in him.

He stares off into space, looking tired and asks aloud, "I wonder why they used grape kool-aid and not cherry." The entire world asks why they did it, how so many were manipulated so easily and how many were there against their will. Red Forman asks why they chose grape drink and that's why, no matter what, he is and wil always be my one true father.

Marty smiles and pats Red's back before he gets up and I suddenly find it strange that he's even here. I don't know why it didn't occur to me before. Red and Kitty invite him over on every holiday and he's always declined for one lame reason or another. One New Year's Eve he sat with a recently widowed elderly neighbor - translation: he met some new guy. Then last Easter he kept the clinic open with a sick Border Collie - translation: some new guy. Fourth of July weekend - I don't even remember the excuse, but I can only imagine it wore a cowboy hat and a moustache.

Kitty motions for him to sit down and she pours him a fresh glass of milk. He asks Red about helping him out at the muffler shop tomorrow, making big plans for some kind of brother thing that neither of them seems excited about. Then Laurie appears at the kitchen door, looking like she's been through the spin cycle a few times and announces to Kitty that she threw up. I bite down on my tongue to keep myself in check, wanting to make fun because I can smell it in her hair. Eric is almost dumb enough to mention it until his ever-menacing father points a fork full of pancake at him. Kitty tells Red to come upstairs with them, but he unwisely complains, causing her to give him _the look._

Everything becomes clear when she tells him that the boys haven't had a chance to visit with Marty yet. I should have known. Understanding finally dawns on Red and he excuses himself quickly, leaving us Uncle Marty and a sink of syrupy dishes. Crap.

Marty seems uncomfortable, which - from my point of view, at least - is entertaining. "Eric, do you remember my roommate, Christopher? He came here to visit with me when you were nine."

He doesn't think long and seems excited to remember. "Yeah, yeah ... the guy in the sailor outfit."

Marty blushes and nods. "That was your dad's navy uniform he was wearing."

I can't help but laugh. Dumb ass. Eric is trying not to crack up and makes wide, innocent eyes at Marty. "Why was your friend wearing my dad's naval uniform?" I almost piss myself when Marty's hands cover Eric's and he tries to explain that he and Christopher were _special friends_. Eric holds his gaze, pretending to be bewildered and looking purposely and hilariously childlike. "You mean special friends like Johnny Carson and Ed McMahon?"

"No," Marty stammers, "not buddies."

Eric's sharp intake of breath is almost my undoing. He turns to me and whispers, loud enough for Marty to hear, "I think he's, you know ..." When I shrug that I don't, he says, "he's a ... he's just like Paul Lynde."

"Paul Lynde? Oh G-d, Marty. I do understand." I fold my arms, lean back in the chair and smile like the undiscriminating predator I am. He's joyously relieved until I speak again. "You've been trying to tell us that you're an alcoholic."

I've flustered him and he pleads, "No, Steven, dammit, no."

"Uncle Mary, if you have a drinking problem, Hyde and I can so get you help. There are meetings every night in Kenosha. It's less than a thirty minute drive."

He grows impatient and swears he's not a drunk, so I attack. "Jesus, man, you didn't push somebody out of a hotel window, did you?"

"No!" Finally fed up, he smacks the table and raises his voice. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm gay!"

"Wait a minute," I startle. "Are you seriously telling us that Paul Lynde is gay?" Marty walks to the refrigerator and takes out a beer while Eric and I argue over this revelation.

My dumb ass beloved is the biggest Bewitched fan in the universe and takes the news hard. "Uncle Arthur, everyone's favorite Hollywood Square, is homosexual? You think you know a guy."

We bust out laughing and high five , thrilled that poor Marty can't catch a break, not from us. Did Red and Kitty really think he'd give us some kind of gay pointers or that we'd somehow connect? He comes back to the table with a six pack, a deck of cards and a rotten smirk. "You two think you're sooo funny."

I put my arm around Eric's shoulder and squeeze him close. "I'm sure that Red filled you in about just how funny the two of us are."

Marty deals out the cards and admits that he did. "Kitty thought that you might want to ask me questions about things ... or even stuff."

Eric asks, "You mean that you're like, some kind of a gay guru?"

"Your father once called my an encyclopedia of queerdom." Marty smiles briefly, looking distant. "And you know, kiddo, you've got your dad's smart mouth. It used to get him smacked all the time." Marty deals the cards and asks if we have any questions for him that don't involve Paul Lynde. I query him, in great detail, about the guy in Red's sailor uniform. Eric and I ride Marty for the next couple of hours and when he finally decides to go back to bed, he promises to tell Red and Kitty that we had a really great talk so they'll never try to get us together again. When I thank him, he shrugs it off.

Marty's a pretty cool guy, actually. All the other times I've talked to him, he seemed real flaky, going on about yoga, psychics and reiki. And Red always making fun of him didn't help my opinion. I don't think I'll be needing any gay tips from him, like Eric mentioned, but it feels nice that he cared. I realize I'm surrounded by people who love me and care about my welfare, a sobering thought that seriously gives me the creeps, man. It's nice, though; real nice. My name is Steven Gregory Hyde and I've got this family that loves me a lot. Has a nice ring to it.

I throw my arm over the back of Eric's chair and turn to see a night gown clad Donna standing outside the sliding glass door. I point her out to Eric and kiss him good night, not the slightest bit curious about why she's here at four in the morning. I know all about girls and what they want, and it involves my least favorite thing - talking about feelings. So when I see Donna, I don't think of her as Eric's ex or any kind of threat to me, I think of Eric getting to discuss "girl feelings" at length. Sucker.

**More Than a Feeling: Donna & Eric**

We perch the hood of the Vista Cruiser and stare into the sky, much as we have always, as if there's something interesting in the stars that blanket our neighborhood. She's quiet and shy with me now, as if unsure of what to say. I am, too. She fiddles with the belt on her house coat and tells me Jackie is going home to Chicago in a few hours. This I knew already and she's aware of that; just trying for small talk. Jackie is returning to Illinois to finish high school. Donna will never go back. She'll take off the coming semester and come August, school will be somewhere Todd Dunleavy is not; probably Madison. Who knows, after all this, maybe we'll still go to college together. She'll live in the dorm room that her father can so easily afford, be popular and have a ton of friends and dates. She'll work on the school paper and write ground breaking articles about crappy cafeteria food, the inability of freshmen to enroll in much needed prerequisites and whatever big concert is in town. She'll have these great friends in the journalism department and they'll have fantastic adventures just like Woodward and Bernstein. I'm jealous, but I think back to something Hyde told me a long time ago: _... be happy for her instead of sad for yourself._

"What did you love about me, Eric; back when you used to love me?"

I'm always surprised when she's insecure, especially about me. I realize she was like this even before her mother left, maybe because she's a girl. Their feelings are more tender, soft like their bodies are. Hyde has often compared me to a woman, an insecure sissy, so I look to Donna as a measure. I can be insecure, just as she is, but I see no other parallel. I think Hyde needs to see me in a certain way because ... Oh G-d, he feels guilty. He regrets going after me because I've turned him into a total ... no, I didn't. I just said it myself, he came after me. He made the first move. He told my dad about us. He YELLED at my dad. He got us hot jobs and a hotel room and he YELLED at my dad.

A rush of adrenaline courses through me and I swell with the knowledge that I can do pretty much anything I want with no consequences because Hyde will YELL at anyone who calls me on it. This kicks ass. The other day Kelso was right; Hyde is whipped - by me. This really, really kicks ass! I've been uptight and terrified, a whiney, moody jerk waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since my dad found out - no, was TOLD. Damn, that makes me hot. I've been so busy tryin to fly under the radar, to please everyone, and here I have this boyfriend who will probably kick ass at my command. This power is G-d like.

"Eric, I asked you a question. You're like, a million miles away."

I jump from the hood and take Donna's hand in mine, moving fast, my words tumbling forth in a jumbled stream. "Donna ... knew ... best friend ... respect ... long time. Taught each other ... always love ... right behind you ... count on me ... never forget. Gotta go now!"

She smiles as I run into the house and through the kitchen, down the stairs to the basement and into the room where my boyfriend lay sleeping. I fly through the air and land on top of him and when he attempts to assault me with profanity I hold both his wrists over his head and kiss the living hell out of him. We've only done sex stuff with each other, like, two times, but I figure anyone who YELLS at my dad or makes it so I can get away with anything ever, is going to get sex about five hundred times a day. And since he loves me so much and sings Zeppelin lyrics to me, I think I'll put my mouth where ever he asks. He tries to pull me down flat, but I struggle and we both end up on the floor with the stupid cot broken. He pins me, but I hold him back with my knee to his chest and demand he preheat me with some of his not so original poetry.

He sings softly between kisses, a song of his own design, "... don't yank my crank, unless you mean it, baby ..."

I assure him I'm most sincere and proceed to demonstrate.

:)

To be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) Seagull by Bad Company  
:) Let It Be Me by The Everly Brothers  
:) Taking it to the Streets by the Doobie Brothers


	13. Burning Out

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
Jennifer Ryan  
05/23/07

:)

**Burning Out The Same**

My back hurts so bad I'm afraid to move, but I do, and realize I fell asleep face down on the couch with my hand resting in the box of unfinished pizza on the floor next to me. I'm not real clear on the events of last evening, because I dreamed about Polish hookers, poverty and Eric blaming me for ruining his entire life. In my experience, burned out, depressing dreams like that are best chased away with alcohol, which I downed quite furiously. And now I just feel like shit. My last coherent memory is coming down to the basement alone to watch Johnny Carson, leaving Forman slightly tousled, but sexually satisfied.

I'm sure it's not even noon yet when Kelso slams the door, forcing me to move. Franklin, the German Shepherd he swiped from the PD in Chicago, licks my hand roughly and devours the remainder of last night's pizza snack. Kelso's got that same stupid grin that I always want to smack off his face and says after the morning they've had, Franklin's got the munchies. He continues that Franklin is the super best dog in the whole wide world and when I bury my face in the sofa cushion and politely request that he fuck off, he throws about five large sandwich bags of weed at me and laughs. I gather them, dumbfounded, and Franklin barks his side of the story, which Kelso translates.

"I took Franklin to the park this morning to play frisbee and maybe, you know, pick up some girls. I don't know if you remember Denny Fisher from remedial math, but I saw him out with a couple of his stupid friends from marching band. So, I threw the frisbee in their direction, thinking it would be real funny to hit one of them him in the head and the next thing I know BAM! Franklin knocks him down and he's snarling and going nuts. It was primo!" He then explains that Franklin relieved Denny of a bag of pot and that he and Franklin spent the remainder of the morning cleaning out the park. "Did I tell you this is the best dog in the world or what?"

I behold the weed with goofy wonder, in sweet anticipation of the hundred circles that await me and mine. With this dog on our side, my merry group of directionless miscreants will be an unstoppable force for evil. "Kelso, man, for an idiot you're a genius!"

He announces loud and proud, "Yeah, I know. I say I bring some by the hotel tonight and we can all smoke before we hit the show."

"Yeah, OK. You know, Kelso, maybe I should hold some of this for you, you know, like for an emergency."

He smacks my hand and takes it all back. "Hell no, these are my children!" He details to me his plan, which involves combining them all into one really big bag and marrying it. He then excuses himself, because it's Friday and on Friday afternoons he and Fez like to discuss current events over coffee and pie. I don't even want to know what that means. I stretch and try to calculate how much time I have to shower and eat before work, and if t ime is enough for Eric to join me for one activity or the other. I drag my ass up the stairs to find Kitty making lunch for Red. She tells me Eric and Donna got an early start today, but I don't bother to ask why. Pour myself a bowl of toasted sugar flakes, I try not to think about the fact that Donna is back, maybe for good, and that she and Eric are going to go places and talk about stuff and do things - maybe a lot. Crap.

**Making Money**

The restaurant and the bar close well before eleven on Fridays, but tonight is special, thanks to The Ralph Covington Orchestra. I've never seen so many old people so excited. Believe it or not, they're as drunken and rowdy as any Shriners we've served, but they tip well and none of the elderly women can keep her hands off Forman's ass. He's tripped over two walkers and a cane and been forced to dance with several of the ladies. I watch and try hard not to laugh, because this lame big band music gives me a killer headache. I down a handful of aspirins given me by Jessica, who usually works behind the front desk, but plays hostess whenever we have a convention. I hang back in the kitchen, helping Roy smash carrots and doing my best to avoid the limelight until Forman tosses a crumpled wad of cash on the counter in front of me.

"What the hell! Forman, man, there must be fifteen dollars here."

He says calmly that there is twenty-three and shakes his fist at Roy. "You cannot make me go back out there, OK. I'll do anything. I'll wash dishes. No amount of money is worth that!" Roy chuckles when I offer to trade duties with Eric. "Oh my G-d, Hyde - you're not seriously going out there? Those women are crazy and they pinch really hard."

"Forman, if you can make over twenty bucks in less than two hours, just imagine how much a real man could pull in. Now, these carrots have to be soft, so use the big fork to smash them." I smack him hard across the butt and tell him to get one of the big boys with muscles to help him, if need be. As I exit, I overhear Roy saying that I'm a regular Warren Beatty. I've got to hand it to crazy Roy, when he's right, he's right.

I scan the room and notice the ladies here are in pairs or large groups, leaving me to wonder if their husbands have long since died. They're dressed to the nines in the finest polyester threads JC Penneys has to offer, some donning little white gloves, most wearing coordinating hats. It's sweet and sad at the same time, to see a bunch of widowed little old ladies wearing far too much makeup and slow dancing together. We learned in health studies class that women traditionally outlive men by several years and I've seen that it's true.

The guests here often mention how their beloved and loyal husbands died some twenty or thirty years ago and all of them shared a similar fate. If it wasn't a heart attack, it's was the war. And G-d have mercy, don't let any of them get started on the war. They can talk for hours about those days. _"Oh, what fun we had then, just us girls,"_ they tell me. _"Betty was the only one who could drive a car and our group would be off to the factory at morning's first light."_They talk about how they worked, smoked and drank together, just like men. Lunch breaks consisted of cold sandwiches, card games and tom foolery on a scale so grand they promise that a handsome young man like myself just wouldn't understand.

And they glorify their long dead spouses as such thoughtful husbands, men who never raised their voices even once. Bullshit. Few of these girls were married more than a year before her old man got blown to hell by a Nazi. Twenty years from now will I romanticize the fact that Forman sucked me off in the shower? Probably. Hell, I'm just a sentimental kind of guy.

I take drinks orders and clear glasses, wagging my tail in a come hither manner meant to encourage free spending, but few seem to notice or care. I do hear some ramblings about how cute I look in my little outfit, but I've heard that all night and about each one of us. After twenty minutes of forward behavior and double entendres, I'm almost too frustrated to care about money until I see a five dollar bill held up for my attention. It's owner sits at the large table of drunken, giggling old nuts who have been extremely attentive to Forman all night. The grand damme hands me the money wrapped in a phone number and commands, "You may give this to the other waiter. He may call my grand daughter, Suzie, on Saturday night."

I graciously accept it and ask if she is the notorious Flossie. The tiny lady next to her, no more than five feet and one hundred pounds with chained eye glasses and shining white hair pulled into a loose bun, looks both frail and mischievous as she volunteers herself. I pull Jessica's aspirin bottle from my pocket and place it on the table in front of her, leaning in to explain. "I figure your fingers must be sore from pinching my boyfriend's ass all night."

The ladies squeal with tipsy delight, as if Forman and I are some sort of rare novelty they've set sights on. Flossie beams, embarrassed but having fun, "I can't mix these pills with my wine, but perhaps you boys could stop by my room and help me rub in some asper cream?"

I roll my eyes and take away empty glasses amidst their immature school girl laughter and once my back is turned, the pinches are frantic and hard. I yelp in surprise and jump forward, looking back at several guilty but satisfied waves bye-bye. I hope that when I'm old I still know how to have a good time. I hope that when I get old, Forman hasn't been dead for twenty years. I don't know why I think depressing shit like this. Sometimes it hits me out of nowhere and I can't push it out of my head or keep it from invading my dreams unless I drink. As I clear the next table, I drain the alcohol from each glass before I place it in the bin, cringing as I accidentally swollow the tiny onion that floated in an abandonned Gibson. For the last thirty minutes the guests have been leaving, but I didn't notice.

Only Flossie and her girls remain now. When I turn I see they've been watching me with interest, as lost in thought I took out my frustration on the tableware. Kelso, Leo and Fez arrive and I motion them straight to the kitchen until I can get rid of the ladies. They laugh as I approach them and when and I ask if there's anything I can get for them before we close for the night, sweet Flossie asks, "Got any Mary Jane, sweetheart?"

~ Twenty minutes later ~

Agnes passes me the joint and I admit that I almost didn't come to work tonight. She giggles and takes a long drag before passing it to Forman, who's still stuck in the middle of the same story.

"And Hyde told my dad, _Back off, old man, unless you want MY foot in YOUR ass._And then my dad completely backed off. He hasn't given either of us a hard time since."

Kelso laughs loud, genuinely thrilled to spill the beans. "That's crap. You know what his dad calls them? Erica and Stephanie."

"When my sister and I were girls, we would kiss each other for practice," Flossie says. This information appears to give Fez a boner and he quizzes her nonstop. I'm convinced if he had a notebook, he'd be writing it all down, but he files it mentally, along with her sister's name and hair color.

Roy asks Kelso if Red really calls me Stephanie, and Michael explains he only does it behind our backs. "Sometimes, when I call on the phone, I just cut to the chase and ask if Stephanie and Erica are at home."

Eric hasn't heard a word anyone else has said, as usual. "Basically, it's like, if someone comes up to me with attitude, I just take a step aside and motion for him to take up his issue with my complaint department, aka, my psychotic boyfriend."

This is a mind blowing newsflash to me. "Forman, man, you think I'm psychotic?" He rewards me with a dreamy smile so I reach over and kiss him, ruffling his hair. He tells me thinks I'm a violent psychotic and I couldn't be more pleased. I take a drag and announce, "That's why I love him."

"Cinnamon hair, just like my Robert." Ruth laments as she attempts to smooth down one of Forman's fly away locks. "G-d rest his soul." She whispers, just loud enough for everyone to hear, "We had sex on the kitchen table when he came back from Germany. He still had on his army uniform."

Kelso laughs generously in approval and volunteers a couple of the stranger places he's done it, then addresses me as Stephanie and says we're going to miss our show if we don't leave in the next thirty minutes. I reach across the table and smack him, a sight at which everyone but he laughs. "Well, damn, Hyde, this is the last weekend for Animal House." He fills in the ladies about the plot and announces that he's seen it five times. "That movie almost makes me wish I'd gone to college."

Roy jumps up and says we can leave everything trashed for the day shift to clean up if we'll just please let him go with us. So we wrap up the party and each of our inebriated guests is escorted to her room, and knowing Fez, probably kissed on the forehead and tucked in to bed.

Only Eric and I are left, so I take off my coat and fling my dorky bow tie across the room. He busies himself clearing tables like the good little employee he is, which makes me sick. I've had a little too much to drink tonight to clean anything safely, so I turn on the radio and pilfer a Michelob from behind the bar. The Eagles are playing so I tell Forman to get his ass over here and dance with me now, which he does, even though he's looking at me oddly. I put my arms around his neck and tell him to loosen up and have fun. It's a love song playing and we're in love, so there's no reason to be so uptight.

"You call this a love song?"

"I call this beautiful music, Forman. Now hush." We dance slow a while and ignore the world around us. But I've played it cool long enough and have to ask, "So where did you and Donna go this morning?" I feel him smile against me and know I'm sunk. "Not that I give a damn where the two of you went together, Forman. I'm just trying to make conversation."

"The college next to Dairy Queen. Donna's dad heard a radio ad about a late registration blitz for the winter term, so he handed her a blank check. She wants to keep busy, you know. Not think about her mom or Todd or," he gestures to himself, "losing out on the hottest guy she'll ever meet."

I roll my eyes and sigh. "Wait, Pointless Place Junior College?" I have to say I'm surprised. I always kind of pictured it as an ultra lame alternative to a real school. I twirl him around and ask if it's the same place where Kitty took ceramics class.

"She took basket weaving and a class in cake decorating, too."

"So, do you think you might like to go there for awhile?"

He smiles, thrilled that I'm interested, but realistic. "It costs almost $400 a semester, Hyde. There's just no way." He rests his head on my shoulder and says softly, "I can't believe I even thought I'd be able to go away to Madison one day. College is for rich people, like the Pinciotti's."

Ouch, man. Four hundred bucks a semester won't be easy to swing. Kitty doesn't need us to contribute the way we did when Red first got sick, but still. The muffler shop is doing alright and Mrs. Forman gets good hours at the hospital. Of course, Laurie's back now and I doubt Red will make her lazy ass get a job.

Soon they'll be a baby in the house and tons of extra expenses to consider. It's not fair that Eric is always the one left out. There will always be something to keep Eric from going to school and I'll be damned if his sister's selfishness is the reason. Laurie is an adult and by no means is she helpless. I can bring in a little over $100 a week if I really hustle, so one semester is four months is $100 a month or $25 bucks a week. This could work.I'll cut back on beer, weed and music - the big three. Better yet, I'll quit eating.

Eric tells me my eyes are crossed and asks what I'm thinking so hard about. I don't want to tell him, so I sing along with the Eagles, _"If it all fell to pieces tomorrow, would you still be mine?"_

He promises me yes and confiscates my beer. Before we know it, we're slow dancing to a bank loan commercial and I begin to realize that I've mixed so many weird drinks I'm about to throw up. I keep it cool, though, and don't get sick until we hit the parking lot. Man, I can't wait for the dayshift to come in.

**Take it to the Limit**

So Christmas is coming in less than two weeks, but our little family is keeping the fanfare to a minimum. Red and Kitty bought new mattresses and since Eric and I insist on sleeping together in a twin size bed, we were to inherit the old one. That is until Laurie pointed out how hard her old bed is on her back now. Needless to say she got it, and after a little strategic whining on her part Red made Eric and I clean out her old room out from top to bottom, paint the walls puff pink, install an extra shelving unit, lay new carpet and put together the crib.

When we finish, Laurie puts her hand on her stomach for effect, even though she barely shows, and thanks me on baby's behalf. I accept graciously, of course, and inform her that I may have accidentally painted the window shut. "Good luck sneaking in the Marine Corp, whore."

Eric's room presented more of a challenge from a decorator's point of view so we both shoved a bunch of his crap in storage boxes, pushed the two twin beds together, then made out for the rest of the evening. We were so exhausted we fell asleep in our clothes. I wake in the middle of the night, greeted by a dark, cool and quiet house. I see soft snowfall through our window and decide I'd like to have a cigarette to celebrate it, but I never make it outside. Laurie sits at the kitchen table with a tall glass of milk, a mug of coffee, a half eaten box of donuts, a legal pad and an assortment of colored pencils. It's three am and she's up, again, so I help myself to some coffee and join her. This has become our ritual. She holds up the paper for me and explains tonight's idea.

"My name is Laura Evelyn. My baby's name will be Lynn Evangeline. We'll have the same initials, L.E.F."

"What if the baby is a boy?"

She gives me the dirty _it's not happening_ look she usually reserves for her brother. The other day when Red mentioned how nice it would be to finally have the little boy he's always dreamed of, he got the _it's not happening_ glare from Laurie and the wide eyed _what the hell_look from Eric, both at the same time. Personally, I don't care which gender this kid turns out, I'm just hoping he or she is a communist, the only thing that could ever make Red angrier than having a gay son. "Let me hear the list again."

"Well, I crossed off Lois and Louanne because they're fat names."

"I agree."

"Lana or Loni are still possibilities. You know, like Loni Anderson. She's got great hair and I admire that in a person. Lane and Lacey are too different, I'm not even sure Lane is a girl name and Lee Anne is definitely out because only hillbillies have two names." She downs the rest of her coffee, knowing well Kitty warned her to avoid it, then polishes off the remainder of the donuts. I take the legal pad and see she's written baby's name about a hundred times and in different colors, styles and combinations. _Lynn E. Forman, L. E. Forman, Lynn Forman, L. Evangeline Forman._When I ask why she's not using Jerry's last name, which I don't know but imagine is DICK, she looks sadder than I expected. "I'm going to leave the father's name blank on the birth certificate."

"You still might get back together. Maybe he'll call you."

"No," she wrinkles her nose and says sensibly. "I wouldn't take him back now. He was a jerk. I can't believe I was stupid enough to think he'd ever marry me." She smiles, almost laughing, "If it weren't for his uncle, he wouldn't even have his janitor job. Jerry's going nowhere fast and I'm beginning to understand, he doesn't ever want more than he's got."

"Well, you know, it wasn't so long ago that you had a loyal husband who worshipped the quicksand you bathe in." She rolls her eyes in disbelief that I'd bring that up. "A guy who maybe even still loves you and would take you back, baby and all." I write out the name _Lynn Evangeline Zayas_with the red pencil, big so it takes up five lines. I can't read her expression, but I see what looks like the start of tears as she holds it up and stares through it.

"Fez and I SO have nothing in common."

"You both love disco and things that are pink. For G-d's sake, you both feather your hair. He treated you like a princess and he cooks, cleans and puts up with your self-centered crap."

"Yeah," she nods. "Well, orphan, that's enough strategy planning for tonight." She belches and pats me on the head before she heads up the stairs. I pour the rest of the coffee into my mug and head outside for a quick smoke. It's snowing harder and covering the ground in a thick blanket that begs to be formed into a snowman or a fort. I can't believe 1978 is almost over; so much changed in my life this year that I'll be sad to see it go. So many of my old dreams have burned out, only to be replaced by new ones.

A few years ago I saw my future self as a roadie for Aeromsmith, waking every afternoon in a new city with a stranger in my arms. Life was going to be an adventure, a never-ending party with a limitless supply of weed and alcohol. Much like Laurie, I've never been a huge fan of domestication, at least not until now. These days I dream of simple things, like a house, a dog and time to spare with Eric. My dreams have definite limits, but pleasant ones; boundaries that keep me together with the people I love, instead of trapping and suffocating me. It's just the nightmares I have to worry about now.

I toast to the promise 1979 surely holds and extinguish my cigarette in the ashtray of my El Camino. Eric is going to work in a few hours to cover for Jessica, so she can do some family thing neither of us cared to ask about. I've got a nine a.m. appointment to talk to the lady in the office at Pointless Junior College about setting up a monthly payment plan for Forman. The main reason is a selfish one; I want all my friends to know I'm nailing a college man.

:)

To be continued ...

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) Take it to the Limit by The Eagles


	14. War is Over

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
by Jennifer Ryan  
06/03/07

:)

**War is over**

I'm not really sure what's happening at first, for some reason I keep falling down. My surroundings spin out of control and every time I try to rise, someone pushes me down into the snow. It's frustrating and hard to understand until her tennis shoe connects with my stomach. She screams, "You stupid dick, do you think this is funny!" and hits me again.

I'm not sure why she's mad, but I wish I'd worn a jacket. It is freezing out here. The next time she knocks me down, I stay down to conserve my energy. I don't know who she's talking to, but hands are all over me, puling me up by my flannel shirt and holding me steady. I see Bob and laugh, thinking to myself _G-D DAMN, LOOK AT THAT HAIR!_ I almost go down again, but Red pulls me up hard and looks as if he's about to pop a blood vessel. Bob is rambling on about Christmas tradition being ruined and I suddenly notice the Vista Cruiser parked atop what were once his life-sized singing and jiggling plastic snowmen.

"Ah, jeez. Every year Midgey and I would dress 'em up to look like Tony Orlando and Dawn."

Red demands he tie a yellow ribbon around it and drags me home by the collar. Man, wait till Forman sees what some asshole did to that boat he calls an automobile. Kitty is waiting for us at the kitchen door and giggles nervously as she admits those snowmen were an eye sore.

"Of course they were, Kitty. But that doesn't mean you get drunk and launch a car into them." Under his breath, he decides that a respectable man would have smashed them with a hammer a long time ago.

Kitty places a mug of hot coffee on the table and Red pushes me down on a chair in front of it. "And you, dumb ass; what the hell was that? If you ever so much as think about driving drunk with my son in your car, I will put my foot so far up your ass that it will have to be surgically removed." Kitty gestures for him to slow down, but he's on an angry roll and says, "better yet, Steven, if you ever endanger my kid with such irresponsible, stupid behavior, you will not live in the same house with him."

I know my eyes are red rimmed and blood shot and that 90 proof courses in shots through my veins, so I don't respond. Everything is slow and a little difficult to process, but I can smile and laugh, so I do. And man, Red turns red.

Poor Kitty is so patient as he rehashes their life history. First up is the night job he took to pay for a second unexpected baby, followed by the humiliation of his father telling him to lay in the bed he made himself. Next is the tiny apartment where the two lived, cramped and miserable with a toddler, a newborn and a teen aged Uncle Marty. I only laugh harder when Kitty has to drag him back and lead him out of the room. I hear him hit the stairs and he's yelling at the top of his lungs, "I didn't bust my ass for eighteen years so my kid could end up road kill!"

I know its not funny at all, it's actually quite sad, but I laugh and cannot stop. I could blame it on the fact that when Edna was pregnant with me she smoked grass nonstop, but I don't really know if that's true. I'm just a dick sometimes, or as Kitty prefers to think, _not in touch with my feelings._

I reach for the coffee mug and my hand passes through it. In slow motion, it shatters at my feet and the liquid spreads across the floor in several directions. I'm on my hands and knees still trying to figure out how to clean it up when some napkins fall in front of me and I see Eric's feet. I crawl toward him and cover his scrawny naked legs with kisses that he doesn't appear to appreciate, proving to me once and for all that the fine art of seduction is dead as a fucking doornail. I look up at him and grin. Man, he's tall, taller than I ever noticed. And he doesn't look mad.

It dawns on me that anytime I had a couple of drinks, Jackie would be pissed - red hot mad that I'd done something that she wasn't involved in or couldn't control. And boy was she short, short and angry all the time. Not like Forman, a giant happy beanstalk who loves me unconditionally and who practically begs to be scaled.

I grab a fist full of his boxer shorts to pull myself up, warning him I plan to climb all the way to the top. He tugs back on them so they don't pull off and that's when his mother walks in.

"Honey, take Steven to bed." She flushes at the incidental possibilities and corrects herself. "I mean, get him out of sight for a little while. He hit your father's sore spot and it is going to take a while for me to calm him down. I'll clean up this mess."

Eric leads me to the basement, slowly, supporting my weight as I paw him more roughly than is my intention. I don't know why I'm so shaky. Drinking rarely effects me in any noticeable way, but tonight I maybe lost count, that's all.

I fall across the couch and enjoy of few minutes of sweet silence. I feel Eric pull off my shoes, carefully, like he's trying not to disturb me. He undoes my belt and unzips my jeans, not letting me help. Once they're off, I pull him on top of me and tell him all about how I know what he's doing, but he wiggles away and plays hard to get. I grab at him clumsily, not meaning to, but he yells that I hurt him and pulls away. I try to understand what's happening, because he has never not let me touch him.

Now he reminds me of Jackie, always punishing and humiliating me, always demanding that I beg. "Is that what this is, Forman?" He's seems bewildered, but I'm on to him now. I tell him I know exactly what he's doing. But he doesn't seem to understand, just like Bud and Edna, just like Jackie. "I bet you even thought you'd be the one to make me cry, didn't you, Forman?"

"Hyde, what are you talking about?"

"You pulled me in. You wanted me to feel safe so you could slam me, just like everybody else I was stupid enough to try to love. I tried to tell myself you were playing some kind of game with me, but I didn't want to believe it. Well, don't worry. If you don't want me to touch you, then I won't do it ever again."

"That's what this ..." he stammers. "You hurt me when you grabbed me, dumb ass. I didn't say never touch me again." He looks away in disappointment and begins taking off my socks. "Why are you drunk again? You never used to drink without me." The hurt and confusion I hear seem so genuine that I'm really starting to feel like a bastard. "Just tell me how I screwed up this time, because I know it's me. It's always me. Why are you so unhappy with me anymore?"

He sits on the end of the sofa, letting my feet rest on his lap, but staring straight ahead. My drunken, paranoid mind tells me he can't stand to look at me, but the me underneath that is sensible and sane can see he's insecure and afraid. I try to tell him, though it comes out as little more than a whisper, "I'm not unhappy with you. I love you."

"Do you regret sending me to school? Hyde, I don't want you to pay for me to go to school if you've changed your mind. Is it Donna? You don't want me to spend time with Donna."

I sigh and watch the ceiling swirl, unable to find words that will label my misery. How can I make him understand that the war I fight is with myself; that I hurt all the time. The words do exist, somewhere between Heaven and my heart, but I can't find them. I can only say, "you don't understand."

"I'm not going to school, Hyde. But I already paid for two of my books and I don't think I can return them." His statements are matter of fact, "Everything will be fine. I'll tell Roy I want to stay on full time at the hotel."

Damn it. I feel a single tear slide from the corner of my eye and I struggle like I'm drowning, frustrated that I can't make myself understood. It's bad enough that I feel so broken hearted, but if I don't try to explain, he'll blame himself. Finally, I force myself to speak and it all tumbles out in a incoherent rush.

"I'm sick of living in a tiny factory town in retarded Wisconsin. You know who lives in Wisconsin, Forman? Those stupid kids from _Happy Days_. It's like The Fonz is the coolest guy in the middle of nowhere, and that's me. I'm the Fonz. I'm going to end up at the Hub, using the john for my office and scaring the shit out of junior high kids."

He exhales in what I perceive to be relief, so I close my eyes before I can lose my nerve, determined to keep going. "I went to the bar again. And I can't find them, Forman. I've looked at least ten times and I just can't find them." He asks who I mean, obviously confused and probably afraid for my sanity. "Those polish whores. I dream they hurt you and it's my fault. I wasn't watching out for you and I'm supposed to fucking watch out for you. And it could have been a lot worse. Every night I see it and it's so much worse."

My breath comes in short, ragged pants, because I'm drunk, sick and dizzy. Eric reminds me so much of his mother when things get bad. He waits, watches and listens patiently. There's no judgement or retaliation; not when it's serious. The same fifteen year old boy who shoved a half-eaten popsicle down the back of my jeans for bragging that I'd nail Donna first is now the eighteen year old guy who undresses me slowly and keeps the room dark so I don't realize how badly I need to throw up.

The gangly brat who told me that deep down my mother really loved me, she just loved prostitution more, is the same boy who drove me past the Henderson farm on midnight cow tipping missions, acted as a look out when little Kelso and I swiped hot wheels and cans of beer from the corner store, and brought me home with him and gave me a family.

He asks me questions I don't know how to answer, like what would I do to the Polish girls if I ever found them. He offers to assist me in any revenge that involves crazy glue, egging their cars or spray painting a cuss word on something they own. He takes it lightly because I don't think he understands that something really bad may have happened. I try to tell him that there were men there and who knows what they did and who knows where they are now. I see them around every corner; always in wait. But in my dreams it's not me they want, and that's why I can't sleep.

I stop rambling so I can catch my breath, knowing well that I'm making no sense. He tells me that no one did anything to him, says he thinks he would know, and demands to know what the did to me. Other than totally fucking up my mind, I don't have any idea.

He rolls up my t-shirt and begs to check for hickeys and bruises, moving slow and talking quiet. He lays his head on my belly and we talk a long while about nonsensical things I probably won't remember in the morning and suddenly I stop hearing. I retreat into my mind, as if in a waking dream, and think about how fortunate I am. I live with you and love you. You guard my secrets and know all of my dreams. You teach me to be stronger and better, to let go of the anger that torments me. You're deceptively fragile, yet unfazed by ever-threatening skies. As friends, we were loyal to one another and committed, as we are now, but covered by this one unidentifiable feeling and unnameable thing. What started as a flicker, an erratic flame, has blossomed into a complete loss of equilibrium. Only now am I able to understand that this is love, genuine and unconditional.

I open my eyes and see Red standing over us. A sobering jolt of terror and humiliation rips through me at the thought that he may have heard our conversation, but he gives no indication that he has. Looking uncomfortable, he clears his throat and apologizes for losing his temper with me, further explaining it's much too cold for us to sleep in the basement tonight. He and Eric help me get up the stairs without falling on my face and the next thing I know I'm tucked in my warm little bed.

According to the alarm clock, I'm out less than an hour when I feel the mattress dip. Eric is next to me, drinking hot tea and reading a text book, reminding me of the terribly square and responsible adult he's becoming. He notices I'm watching and explains it's the book for his psychology class. "I'm reading about craziness and I think I've diagnosed you with a specific kind," he says tenderly. "Unfortunately, it's not one of the cool axe murder kinds of insanity that I know you appreciate; it's one of the lame, toned down versions."

I smile, glad just to be considered nuts in any capacity. "So what's it called?"

"Depression. And I'm sorry to tell you that it doesn't make you a public menace."

"Just a private one, huh?" I wiggle free of my blanket cocoon and apologize for unleashing my insecurities on him. He hands me his mug and says if I'd spilled every thing sooner, Bob's holiday ornaments would have survived. He reminds me that the Christmas season is the hardest one for the snow people's kind, so I vow to keep them in my prayers. I assure him that I can't wait for him to start school; that I'm more than happy to be the one to pay, because one day he'll be a career man and buy me a hot car in trade. That's been the plan since day one.

He's unsure, but I promise him it's not his fault that I feel left behind. Eric and Donna have plans, as do Kelso and Fez and even Laurie. I feel like I'm the only one who can't get my shit together and I don't know what to do about it. I mean, I figured it would take everyone longer to put together a plan and I was positive Kelso would be the last.

We live in Wisconsin, that's just how it is. Our friends and family are here; this is where our life is. You are Richie Cunningham and I am the Fonz, and maybe that's how it's really meant to be. I'll be the coolest guy in the middle of nowhere, and you'll be the light of my life.

Eric stretches and yawns. I try to coax him into the shower with me to no avail, but he promises I've got ten minutes before he turns off the light. I scrub the smell of stale cigarettes from my hair as quickly as I can and when I return, Eric is holding the covers up for me. I let him be my pillow for once and as I get comfortable, Donna's voice comes through the radio, which is playing on low. She announces, no doubt working hard to maintain her composure, "This is Hot Donna on WFPP with a midnight request. A little John Lennon from 1971, going out to Stephanie from Eric. Happy Christmas, Point Place."

I chuckle into Eric's chest and know he's smiling as he tangles his hand in my hair and tells me that since it's midnight, it's technically Christmas Eve. I ask why I have to be Stephanie and he kisses me until I'm quiet. We fall asleep quickly as he sings to me for once, promising repeatedly the war is over, if I want it. I dream of building new snowmen for Bob and that Kelso gives one of them a giant snow dick. Man, I love Christmas.

_And so this is Christmas, for weak and for strong, for rich and for poor ones, the road is so long. _

_A very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Let's hope it's a good one, without any fear. _

_The war is over if you want it. _

:)

to be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) Happy Christmas (The War is Over) by John Lennon, 1971


	15. My Old School

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
Jennifer Ryan  
06/08/07

:)

**I did not think the girl could be so cruel**

I should have gone back to bed after my bowl of alphabet cereal cussed me out, because it was all downhill from there. I wanted a quickie before breakfast, but my parents were up and there's no lock on my door. Everyone else ate pancakes and bacon; Laurie in slow motion as she sized me up and down and announced I was going to be a geek in an alligator shirt for another four years.

I tried to defend the fact that I want to look nice, but I want it to be casual nice so no one will think I'm going out of my way to look nice. Hyde spent at least fifteen minutes trying to convince me that making a good impression on my first day of school would require wearing his Zeppelin shirt. I sat between him and my mother as they argued how a decent young college man should dress. Unable to take it and unable to win, I ran up the stairs while trying to pull off my polo shirt and wiggle out of my trousers. I dug until I found one of Steven's concert shirts in the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper and matched it with one of my nicer pairs of jeans. When he walked in, I was lingering in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to figure out how to look dirty but cool and not dirty but stupid. I want to appear intelligent, but not seem like a know it all. I don't want it to look like I'm trying too hard to be not a geek when I really have been something of a geek my entire life.

Hyde puts both hands in my hair and messes it up real good. "Now that's what I'm talking about, Forman." I whine that I look like a homeless person, but Hyde disagrees and says I just look like I belong with him. I counter that's because he looks like a homeless person, a compliment that makes him grin.

I can't seem to make him understand that any one of my teachers could be a carbon-copy of my father, deciding I'm a dumb ass the second we meet. All I need is an army of Red's riding my ass until I die.

Hyde undoes his belt and before he can hand it to me, I draw the line. I'm too nervous to eat, so I'm sure as hell not going to suck him off, even if I've suddenly fulfilled all his fantasies by dressing like a hobo.

"I'm not begging for sex, Forman. I figured I'd save that for tonight when you're trying to study. I want you to wear my magic Canada belt."

"Canada belt? You don't really think my parents are stupid enough to believe that's a maple leaf on the buckle, do you?" Oh man, if I went to my first day of college wearing a giant dope leaf - we'll, I'll never be too old to wear my own ass for a hat. "I promise you can loan it to me on my first day of graduate school, should I attend."

Instead of looking disappointed, he pulls out a box from under our bed and demands that if I won't wear his lucky belt, then I have to at least take this. I place the box on our bed and open what is none other than an impossible to find Star Wars book bag with a picture of Darth Vader's bad ass self on the front.

"I can't believe you found one. Nobody has one of these!" He shrugs, saying bashfully that he beat the hell out of a fourth grader to get it. "It still has the price tags on it, but that's a nice story anyway."

"Your dad had people at every Price Mart in five states looking for it," he says quietly. "But you're not supposed to know that, so don't say anything."

My dad? I can't believe it. I remember how excited he was when one of his friends called from the store in Iowa. I made one of my generic smart ass remarks and handed him the telephone, never suspecting a thing. G-d, if there's anything my dad hates more than people, it's communicating with them in any form. He can't stand it and that's one of the telephones many hazards. Hyde rolls his eyes and warns me not to get sentimental like a sissy little girl, so I sling the pack over my shoulder and ask how I look.

"Not half bad for once, kid."

When we hit the kitchen, my mother is all over the both of us. She reprimands a beaming Hyde for dressing me like a little rebel and the two of them go at it again. I try to fix a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for my bag lunch, but I can't find the bags. They're little brown ones, sometimes with pictures on them, but hopefully not the Smurfs. My mother, who I didn't realize was paying a bit of attention to me, pulls the bags from a drawer without pausing her conversation. She then hands me a Tab cola from the refrigerator and a baggie of carrot sticks she cut up for me special.

"They're for good eye sight. You're going to be straining your eyes in front of a black board all day long, so sit as close to the front as you can." Hyde complains that the front rows are for nerds and other losers, which elicits a chuckle from my father. "No, no, no. The front rows are for well behaved young people whose parents taught them proper values and manners." Hyde warns me to sit in the back or I'll be the target of the cool kids spit wads, but Kitty is adamant that I not associate with those types. "You know what kind of hoodlums you'll find in the back row? Those greaser boys from Sha-Nah-Nah."

I laugh until I'm afraid I'll piss down my leg and all the while my mother demands to know what's so funny. I'll turn blue if I don't get out of here soon and it's then that she notices my new back pack. "Well, isn't that just sweet. It has a picture of that machine guy you play with in the bath tub."

My dad flashes me the _I told you those are dolls_ look, but before I can defend my honor, mom asks where I got something so sharp. I look at Red when I tell mom it was a surprise from someone who loves me. He puts down the newspaper and tells me to get the hell out of his house with that kind of talk.

Hyde sits in the car with me while I wait on Donna and even though it only takes her a few minutes, it seems like an eternity. I don't know why I'm so nervous. In my life I've had plenty of first days of school and they all turned out fine. Of course, they all ended in a circle. And Hyde was always there; not just in the circle but occasionally in math class. He was always by my side to encourage me with a _What the hell are you looking at, Forman?_ or to use me as a distraction or a patsy whenever Kelso was not available.

Donna appears in front of us, hair drawn up in an uncharacteristic french bun and donning a pink sweater and black knee length skirt. Her look is completed by a strand of small pearls, no doubt real and a family heirloom. She looks amazing, always does when she dresses like a fine lady. It serves as a reminder of just how much better than me she really is.

Hyde opens the passenger door and gives her his seat, a gesture she acknowledges with a thank you and shy smile. Then he asks her why the hell she's dressed like Jackie Kennedy and she flushes a bright red. Noticing my choice of attire, she tells him that some people want to look nice on their first day of school to make a good first impression.

"Not Forman, if anybody so much as looks at him, he's been trained to go off like a bottle rocket. He's my apprentice now, Pinciotti."

She rolls her eyes and tells me to step on it and as we turn onto Western Avenue I see that Hyde is still standing in the driveway, pretending he's too cool to wave goodbye to me. I should have turned the car around right then.

Donna and I have math and anthropology classes in common and will ride together Mondays and Wednesdays. Now our anthropology class is taught by a three hundred year old Brit in a tweed jacket who is extremely hard of hearing, something that was not entirely unexpected. Most of our classmates are familiar faces - Point Place is a small town - but I overhear a couple of people claiming to be from Summersville or Westerly. They pay a generous amount of attention to Donna and a few minutes into class they begin trading up seats until they are next to us.

Our professor, Mr. DeWitt, speaks dispassionately of the many African countries we will discuss this semester, such as Rhodesia and Egypt. Ted and Roger lay on the charm in a gambit to get their hands down Donna's pants and I try hard to tune them out. A few of the girls notice me and one gives me quite the suggestive wink, but none are as forward or rude as the guys who've claimed Donna. Our one hour class feels like it drags into three and I find myself fantasizing about how Kelso would alleviate the boredom by farting and blaming it on Rodney Francis, who is conveniently here.

Roger or Ted, I don't know which, finally asks Donna to give up her phone number - unless, of course, she's with me and that's when Donna nervously blurts out that I'm gay. Every head in the class turns in my direction, even Mr. DeWitt's, oddly enough, and I look to Donna in shock. She covers her mouth like she can't believe she's said it. I slump down in my seat amid the heckling of the guys who were our high school football team and the giggling of the girls who flirted with me just moments ago.

Mr. DeWitt silences the class and writes the word HOMOSEXUALITY on the chalk board in large capital letters. "Homosexuality is but one of the many topics of concern for the _SOCIAL ANTH-ROP-OLO-GIST_," he enunciates. "The phenomenon is treated from a _CULT-UR-AL PER-SPEC-TIVE_ and is investigated using the _SCI-ENT-IF-IC METHOD._" His furious scribbling seems to have distracted everyone but me as the class copies down the vocabulary words and writes out their definitions. Mr. DeWitt explains the scientific method in detail, then in good nature says, "of course, some of us do literally take our research to bed with us."

Laughter erupts in the room - even Donna can't help but to smile, but I feel an overwhelming sense of betrayal. Hyde and I don't really run around advertising they way we feel or the things we do. Our families and our friends know what little information we share, but we've certainly never walked into a public place or made a spectacle of ourselves in front of strangers. Does that mean I am ashamed? I don't think I'm ashamed.

I wish this had happened in psychology class, then maybe I'd get free help analyzing it. I can't believe Donna would just say stuff about private things and stuff and just - use private information to make fun of me. I shove everything into my book bag and head for the door, only to be stopped by the instructor, who grabs my arm gently and leads me to the front of the class room.

"Young Mr. Forman will assist our class in a brief experiment, if he doesn't mind, that is," he says gently. I nod and he motions for me to sit atop his desk while he takes to the black board and draws two columns; PERCEPTION and REALITY. He asks the class to suggest traits that conjure the image of a homosexual and he writes them out in the first column, then he allows me to tackle them one by one, as if playing an insane version of the Family Feud.

"Number one, Mr. Forman. It has been suggested by your peers that a homosexual gentleman might like to listen to Judy Garland or perhaps watch one of her many fine film works. Using yourself or if you rather, your friend, as an example, is this to be considered accurate information?"

"My boyfriend likes Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath," I tell the class as I stare into a spot on the floor. "His favorite actors are Steve McQueen and Jaws."

That draws a few laughs and really boosts my confidence. Mr. DeWitt smiles and tells me in his persistently patient voice, "very good. Number two. It is the theory of several of your classmates that pink is a favorite color and that a young man such as yourself might like to carry a little purse. Are either true?"

"He prefers black. I've never seen him with a purse, but he never leaves the house without a bottle cap opener and a switchblade." A couple folks in the back actually clap at that one, probably because they know exactly who I'm talking about and find it irresistibly hilarious.

"And number three, Mr. Forman, does your boyfriend perhaps enjoy talking on the telephone with his mother?"

I look straight ahead and without flinching tell the entire class that his mother abandoned him. I realize I'm daring them to laugh at that, ready to kick the hell out of anyone who makes a peep. I know most of these spoiled kids from high school and every single one of them has two living, married parents, whether they're happy about it or not.

"And finally, Mr. Forman, it has been suggested by several people in this very room that it is typical for homosexual persons to display such abhorrent behaviors as clothes shopping at the mall and hanging out with girl friends. Have you noticed this?"

"Um, we're not welcome at the local shopping mall for reasons I'd rather not go into." I get some suggestive looks and a few whistles, so I confide that an innocent trip to the pet store resulted in all the lizards escaping captivity. That was all Kelso's doing, but the rest of us got kicked out along with the moron.

"Excellent, Mr. Forman, thank you. You may take your seat."

I do so in triumph, unashamed to make eye contact with each and every person I pass. Everyone claps for me and I take my chair next to Donna, relieved. Mr. DeWitt scrawls several famous names on the board, including Freddy Mercury, Elton John, Rock Hudson and Charles Nelson Reily; all entertainers I recognize to be gay. Our last fifteen minutes of class are used to talk about the treatment homosexuals can expect to receive around the world, which actually turns out to be interesting. I feel pretty good about myself until I get to the john and all the guys take turns calling me sweetheart and smacking me on the ass.

Donna and I eat our bagged lunches together outside and she can't seem to apologize enough, but it doesn't make me feel any better. "Eric, you know when I get nervous I ramble and unexpected things just fly out of my mouth. But it turned out all right. You were, like, amazing in there. I mean you stood up in front of everybody and dared them to get in your face."

"Yeah, I think Hyde's shirt has given me superpowers." She tells me good thing it's not a _Queen_ shirt and I blanch at the embarrassment that would have caused. "You're not going follow me around all week and call me queer are you?"

"Eric! This isn't easy for me you know. I dated you for almost three years and now people know that my ex-boyfriend left me for a guy. Do you have any idea how humiliating something like that is for a girl?"

I tell her I imagine it feels like when your best friend since you were four years old kicks you out of the closet and into a room full of judgemental strangers. I walk away, mentally conjuring scenarios of what will go wrong when we hit math class. I hope Hyde is having a better day than I am.

:)

**Musical Interlude**

Even though I saw this episode of Donahue two months ago and I know what is going to happen, I can't resist the urge to yell at the TV set. I should be in bed or something - I have to work later on - but I can't sleep. Eric should be sitting in front of the tube with me, making fun of these assholes and all their idiotic, stupid ass problems. Fez is at school, Kelso is at school and Eric is at yet a third separate school, leaving me to my own wicked devices. A guy like me can get in a lot of trouble in this town, I'm telling you that right now. Of course, finding it would require getting off the couch.

I wonder what Leo's doing, man. I'm gonna have to learn to knit or cook casseroles or do whatever it is unappreciated housewives do. I go just far enough into the kitchen to retrieve the pan of brownies Kitty made for dessert tonight and drag them back to my lair to finish watching the show. I fall asleep with the half eaten container resting on my belly. Man, I hope I don't get fat.

:)

**El Señor Fernando Eduardo Zayas-Bazán de Sally Hughes Academy of Beauty**

I am the only man in this room, a situation that is often the star of my dreams. Well, except in my dreams all the ladies are throwing tootsie rolls at me, not carrying scissors. My classmates consist of frumpy house wives, not that I discriminate when it comes to the girls, but I do not prefer married.

In 1978, I, Fez, became an American citizen and in this new year I shall become a world famous beautician! I circled today's date, January 20th, 1979, in my new pocket calendar so that it may be forever commemorated. If only my dear old, crazy uncle Van Der Wylde could see me now, the son of a bitch. I came to this country with a dream he didn't support, to become a wealthy American man with his own apartment and many girlfriends. The glamorous life of a Wisconsin hair stylist will be my springboard to popularity, sex and all good things.

I unroll my new supplies on a counter top, organizing my combs and making sure everything is in it's place, when the cruel bastard that is fate slaps me upside the head. My ex-wife, the no account whore who humiliated me by refusing my affections and dating another man on our honeymoon, breezes into the room and boy is her tummy getting fat. Ay, Dios mios, I love her so much!

She hands a slip of paper to our instructor, Mrs. Conner, who puts her hands on her hips and decides to make an example. "It seems your class mate, Ms. Forman, did not come to her first day of school prepared. Despite the specific instructions given to each of you in the admission packet, Ms. Forman has failed to produce the $36.50 needed to purchase her required supply kit." Laurie seems a little embarrassed, but mostly bored by the dramatics, which continue. "This sort of irresponsibility might fly in the dental hygiene program at the junior college, but at the Sally Hughes Academy of Beauty ..."

Laurie puts up her hand and motions for Mrs. Connor to stop, asking if this speech will take much longer. "My father left for work before I could ask for the money and my brother's stupid boyfriend only had 7 bucks on him. I promise I will bring it tomorrow."

"What good is tomorrow, Ms. Forman, when class begins today. What good is a beauty consultant who can't properly handle a pair of shears?"

Laurie rolls her eyes and places her pink book bag on the counter. "Listen here, you ol..."

"I will buy another from the front office," I interrupt. I hand an ungrateful Laurie my treasured supplies, which are carefully sorted and customized with many optional accessories and she says no thanks. We ignore Mrs. Conner's gasp, as she tells her class I am a gentleman. Instead, my attention is on Laurie, as I place the supplies on the counter top before her and whisper in her ear, "because we were once married, I have no problem telling you the things this gentleman's tongue could do to you body if given the chance."

To my great surprise, she's taken aback and seems aroused, but before I can continue I overhear our instructor asking my classmates if there's any chance at all that I am a heterosexual. ¡Carajo! Laurie hears her, too, and yells over me that I live with a guy. I hear a few groans as I head toward the office for new supplies. I make to you this promise, Laurie Forman, you mean spirited woman, that one day you will belong to Fez in every way. Before I go to the office, I seek out the candy machine.

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**My old School**

Today's circle is the sweetest I can remember in a long, long time. The entire gang is home from school by four pm and Hyde doesn't leave for work until five. Usually I can't wait to get out of this house, but today couldn't wait to get back. Mother and father dear are at work and I found Hyde sleeping on the couch with a giant pan of iced brownies, almost half of them eaten and chocolate smeared at the corners of his mouth. Man, I hope he doesn't get fat. I no sooner place them at the center of the table then Fez and Kelso fly through the door and attack them.

Fez spent his entire school day flirting with desperate, overweight housewives who hung on his every word and Kelso learned how to fuck up fruit drinks in a frightening number of ways. I bypass the mornings humiliation and skip straight to the unbelievable surprise that was intermediate algebra. I warn everyone to pay close and careful attention to the mind blowing details and Hyde calls from the couch for me to get the hell on with it.

"Gentlemen and Fez, my math teacher - believe it or not - is none other than the late, the great, the long forgotten Leon _'I got my dick caught in a root beer bottle on a dare at Michael Kelso's birthday party'_ Miller."

Kelso jumps up and down excitedly, yelling how he loved that guy, then gets confused. "Wait, everyone knows that Leon Miller died. One day he didn't show up for school. I heard that his entire family was murdered by a serial killer. It's common knowledge."

Hyde drags himself to the table to get his toke and says, "Wow, Kelso, are you sure his family didn't just move away?"

"No chance. Leon Miller is dead."

"No, Kelso, Leon Miller is my algebra teacher." He asks how that's even possible, since Leon is our same age. "Well, at the age of fourteen, he and his entire family were not murdered by a serial killer, they moved to Illinois. He started the University of Chicago the exact same time we started the seventh grade and got a master's degree in physics."

"I though you said he was a math teacher?" I hand Fez the joint to keep him busy and tell the gang I invited Leon to join us for a circle sometime. Kelso is beyond thrilled and Hyde says cool. I tell him that Donna outed me to our anthropology class and Hyde looks concerned at first, then smiles and yells, _"BURN!"_

"You prick, I was completely humiliated." Hyde and Kelso high five and agree that complete humiliation is an absolute requirement. I guess they're both right. "You guys need to help me figure out a way to get even with her."

Kelso suggests I tell every one that Donna used to date a homo and you know, I think I've smoked just enough pot to call that a fine idea.

:)

To be continued ...

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For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) My Old School by Steely Dan


	16. Instant Karma

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AN: This chapter fullfills one of the requirements laid forth in chapter one.

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
Jennifer Ryan  
06/25/07

:)

**We All Shine On**

I light the last of a hundred candles and Leo's weird ass cronies help me place them strategically around Benny's pool. Irving and Josh, Shintos from a make-shift monastery in Kentucky - translation: Dave and Karen's house - claim to have followed the smell of pot smoke all the way to Wisconsin and to Leo's doorstep. Leo was thrilled, of course, he went to University with Irving and hasn't seen him, or Dave and Karen for that matter, in years.

If I'd have known they were staying here, Forman and I never would have stopped by. It was annoyance at first sight, as the monks decided we had met in a previous life. I'm not sure if I'm open to all that, but Eric was really excited to find out if he kicked someones ass ten thousand years ago. And since they brought some more of that orange jasmine tea and it is my night off, I said what the the hell, you know, let's do this thing.

"We've all been here before, man. And every time we come back, we're surrounded by the same people." Irving looks pointedly at Eric and says, "your father could have been your husband in one life and then your kid in another."

I knew to expect the jaw dropping shock and disgust, so I reached out to catch Eric's tea cup before it could hit the floor. He stutters and gestures frantically to emphasize that it has to be untrue, which is almost payment enough for the waste of my time tonight will be. My laughter only pisses him off, but he's kind of cute when he's pissed so I ruffle his hair.

"Don't laugh," Leo warns seriously. "My previous incarnations were all far-out and happening." When I ask what they were, he rambles on about being a slave, a cowboy and even a dinosaur, which actually is pretty neat.

Irving performs some sort of incantation in a language so foreign I can't even identify it and which appears to serve little purpose other than to drive Benny the goldfish nuts. Eric takes my hand and I close my eyes, mentally overlaying the chant with some hardcore Clapton guitar.

Time stands still as the chorus to Layla repeats ad nauseam, stuck in my brain for what feels like forever. The room grows colder and I'm startled when I squeeze Eric's hand but don't feel him at all. I notice how black everything is, as if I'm adrift in my own universe, but then I remember my eyes are closed. I open them and the world is still a void, but I don't panic until I'm thrown backward with such force that I cannot breath. I fall fast and forever, stopping suddenly but never hitting the ground. Gentle hands are on me and a soft, tiny voice I don't recognize calls me, far away at first, but determined.

"Please wake up. Please don't die." I open my eyes slowly and am greeted by the form of a very young girl leaning over me. Something about her is so familiar and when she puts her hand on my cheek I see that she has Eric's eyes. I look her over and smile, stunned at the hilarity and joyful at the sight of my idiot beloved in a Marsha Brady mini skirt.

I raise my hand to tangle fingers in silky raven hair and delight in each second of whatever this is. As confused as I am, I think Leo's weirdo friends actually sent me to a previous life. And what is even more amazing is that they were right about something. We are surrounded by the same people; the ones we love. Eric is here and he's a foxy teenage girl letting me move my hand up her skirt, which is so short I see red panties. I smile to myself, because this is beyond wet dream spectacular.

She seems so fragile, so afraid, so beautiful - everything that Eric is in this life, too. I try to raise my body off the ground but can't, so I pull her on top of me and tell her we should be having sex. Her worry turns slowly to shock and she slaps me so hard I'm surprised my head doesn't fly off. "You stupid jerk! I was worried you were going to die and you want to ... you want to ... YOU KNOW WHAT YOU SAID!"

I can only smile as she rises, because the resemblance of souls is undeniable. Eric puts up a similar fight whenever I ask for sex, so there's no mistake she is he. I'm distracted by a soft chuckle and turn my head to see Kelso standing over me; Kelso, but not Kelso in a black robe, like a priest. He congratulates me on a smooth move and reaches out to help me stand, "unless your not done looking at Kagome's panties," he smiles.

The girl flushes and puts both hands in front of herself, forcing her legs together as tightly as is possible. Kelso puts his arm around my shoulder and I tell him there was a kitten face on the front of her underwear. He smiles widely and says he knows. "And they say Hello Kitty across the back."

We high five and as I bend to retrieve my sword, a girl flys past me, riding on a giant yellow cat. She says all men are dillholes, causing Kelso to take cover behind me. She is Sango, that's her name. I mean, she's Donna I think, but I know her as Sango in this time. When she lands, her demon cat Kirara (key-la-la) morphs into a kitten and jumps into my arms. I hold her up and she purrs for me, so I cuddle her, somehow confident that she is Jackie.

For the first time I realize the beautiful country side and it's coverage of flowery pink trees that live in my memories and that I think I might love. I pay no attention when I hear Sango slap Miroku for touching her backside; it seems somehow commonplace. The old me is fading from the surface, bit by bit, until I can no longer remember my name. I can only look at my beloved Kagome in lust and wander, which only seems to make her mad.

"Darn it, Inuyasha! What do you think you're looking at? You're such a jerk! Naraku almost nearly killed us and all you can do is put your dirty claws up my skirt!"

"Naraku?" Something stirs in me, I feel a spark, and with it comes the most venomous anger I can imagine. I look at Eric - or Kagome - and can no longer take hold of the silly lust or tender feelings that belonged to Hyde. He's becoming lost to me, and I am someone else now. I am surrounded by an unquenchable hate and a burning desire for blood and vengeance. The memories of this life rush me, come into focus and empower me. My name is Inuyasha and I am a demon.

Behind me I feel an icy presence, see the ground expand and rise into a mountain and from it springs a creature I cannot describe other than to recognize the soul that lives behind it's eyes. The voice is slow and velvet, nothing like the Red Forman who raised me. Kirara jumps from my arms and transforms for Sango. I turn to face my enemy, knowing well that all my futures depend on what happens this night.

"That's right, dumb ass. I, Naraku, have reunited all the shards of the sacred Shikon (Shee-Kahn) jewel; all but yours. And now I will take the last pieces from your dear priestess before I become the most powerful demon in the world and kill you all." His form, part monster or animal that I do not recognize, lashes out at me, but is felled an arrow from my beloved. He regenerates quickly and his giant hand reaches toward her, trying vainly to separate her from the jewel shards she's folded away in a cloth. Sango and Kirara glide through the air, pelting Naraku with weapons that are more annoying than lethal. Kelso - or his name is Miroku now, throws himself in the way and uncovers his hand, holding it out to the demon. A powerful suction springs from it and he taunts Naraku, promising that they will die together if it is the only way to spare the world.

The spirit of Kikyou (key-key-oh), the woman I loved every day until Naraku tricked us into believing we had betrayed each other and who he murdered, arrives to assist us. I focus my boiling rage on destroying Naraku until I hear Kagome scream. Kikyou has confiscated her shards of the sacred jewel and tosses them to Naraku as if she is discarding trash. "Take them, demon. Complete your transformation with their power and destroy them all."

In a voice that's not mine I hear myself scream, "Whose team are you on!" Kagome is at my side and asks if Kikyou could be under Naraku's control and my anger is overcome by the frustration that we are all living in an inescapable hell. "Damn you, Kikyou! I know you hate me, but Kagome is your own reincarnation. How can you betray her to die?"

I raise my sword to Naraku as he uses Kagome's shards to complete the sacred jewel, trembling in the knowledge that I can protect no one, least of all my idiot beloved. I pull her to me, kissing her hard, though she struggles. I expect Kikyou to become jealous, even enraged, but she surprises us both with a clever laugh that reveals she could not care less. I advance on my enemy, sword raised again and vow to die fighting, deafened to Naraku's maniacal laughter until it becomes a vile scream of anguish.

Kikyou has sacrificed herself by touching the jewel, by purifying it with her spirit. Kagome grabs hold of her and both are thrown back as Naraku is cast into Hell. Miroku rushes to the site where the demon was swallowed by earth and performs some religious ritual I ignore. Instead I rush to the women, unsure of whom to attend first. I take Kagome in my arms, unable to remember if I loved her in this life as I love Eric in mine. Was I good to her? Did I disappoint her? Did she understand the endless depth of my desire or did we never share those kind of emotions in this incarnation? I squeeze her lifeless body tight to my chest, unable to cry.

"Bring her to me," Kikyou says weakly, and I do as she asks. The woman I once loved, who died so many years ago and was resurrected by the Shikon jewel, who swore she hated me with every fiber of her being, asks to be forgiven for her deception. "The jewel could not be possessed, Inuyasha. We were fools to think we could harness its power to fullfill our desires. That is why I've hastened Naraku's quest all these years. I suspected it would consume the one who wished to enslave it."

The jewel and its magic, which I pursued across the island chain and had planned to use to become a full-blooded demon, was a living entity with a will of its own. No one should have died trying to protect it, especially not my Kagome. Kikyou's grip on the living world is fading fast, but from the spot where she lay she stretches forth her arms and says, "Give her to me quickly."

I place Kagome by her side and Kikyou recites a blessing of some kind, while making an invisible symbol on her forehead. "Kagome, my future reincarnation, I bequeath to you my strength and my will. May they both live on forever in your heart and in our heirs. My soul is finally free."

Kikyou closes her eyes and disappears as Kagome takes a breath. Miroku walks over to us both and says thoughtfully, "Did you see that douche bag's stupid face when he was sucked into hell? That was beyond righteous."

My world is black again and voices surround me, but this time when I open my eyes I am in a hospital room and Leo is leaning over me, swearing that I had the best freak out he has EVER seen. Eric and his father stand on the other side and I smile, reaching for Eric, but Red smacks my hand and says forget it. "They're running tests to see if you dropped acid, dumb ass. If it comes back positive, you're never laying your hands on him again."

Still groggy, I reach out for Eric, but Red tightens his grip and holds him close so he can't escape. "He's a demon, Eric. Run away."

"Yeah, that's what you told us in the car," he says, looking nervous, but entertained. "You told me I look hot in a mini skirt and that Kelso is a priest." Though my thoughts are jumbled and fading rapidly, I know somehow that it is all true. I close my eyes to rest and as Red drags Eric home, I hear him complaining that I accussed him of being a Jap. OH SHIT!

:)

**Instant Karma**

"So, Jackie was a giant cat, I was a demon slayer and Kelso couldn't keep his hands off my butt?"

"Or mine. At least, that's what Hyde said before they sedated him at the hospital."

Donna laughs as hard and I do, too. It wasn't funny at first, since my dad wanted to have him committed, but mom calmed him down and Hyde was allowed home a few hours later with a piece of paper that stated he was hallucinogen free. He actually couldn't wait to go to work and tell everyone he was some kind of samurai warrior, so I know everything will be OK.

Donna and I sit around the kitchen table and help each other with equations while Bob stands over us trying to act nonchalant. I'm not sure why he hovers; some combination of curiosity and boredom on his part, I guess. He asks me _Bob_ questions, like am I sure I'm gay, because I look exactly the same as ever. He looks me over with intense concentration, genuinely puzzled as he tries to figure out what is different, but finds nothing more than a few hickies on my neck.

"The hickies my daughter used to give you were tinier. You know, dainty, like girl hickies." He looks pensive over his beer and says if Pinciotti hickies aren't good enough for me, than I'm ungrateful and undeserving. Donna clarifies that her ancestors perfected the maneuver and her father agrees that a Pinciotti love bite is the mark of a craftsman.

We laugh as he retires to the family room, beer and sandwiches in hand since Monday is _Little House on the Prairie_ night. He's been lonely a long time, but Donna told me that for the last few months that he and Midge talk on the phone, usually on Friday nights. Donna always answers that call, chatting only a few minutes before finding something she absolutely must do and handing the line to her impatient dad. Midge might even come back soon, I think. They're working on her.

I crumple a piece of paper and rewrite my formulas neatly in the large round handwriting Hyde says signifies to the world that I'm uptight. Unlike his schizophrenic scrawling that often times must be deciphered using my _Johnny Quest_ secret decoder ring, I take pride in clarity and have always understood that neatness counts. I stare out the window and think to myself that I'm more and more like my mother every day, which, technically, might make Donna a lesbian.

I don't realize I'm smiling and startle when Donna smacks my hand and asks what I'm thinking. I dismiss it and copy another equation, wondering if the traits Donna claimed to love are the same ones that attract Hyde. She always said I was trustworthy, comfortable and dependable - all characteristics I've heard used to define a favorite bra. Great. I'm a giant bra, easily ignored and tossed aside after years of loyal service, but no longer of use. And that was the root of our problem, I think. I loved Donna and she loved me, but it was a starter love. We did all our firsts together, we were comfortable, dependable and trustworthy; maybe too much so. I know I loved her with all my heart then and it was a happy loyal love, but it wasn't enduring or passionate. It wasn't meant to be forever.

I think I knew that even then, just didn't care at the time, figured it could be ignored though I knew she was already searching. Not for someone else exactly, maybe for her own identity more than anything else. I don't know how to explain that it's just not the same as with Hyde. We don't just have the passion that was missing between Donna and I, but we have a lot of fun. We're thick as thieves, he says, and I realize that's what I've always wanted to have with someone. That incredible feeling of unbreakable connection and the knowledge that we can share everything and say anything. It's as if we are soul mates, like Irving and Josh said, bound together through time and in every life. The best part is I don't have to worry about pissing Hyde off the way I always did with Donna. I don't have to worry about a lot of things anymore.

My mom says the last few years are really confusing and hard for girls, that they still want husbands and babies, but they want to be respected for more than that. Donna thinks I'm a caveman because my father raised me to believe there's nothing more respectable than having a family and making a home for them. One day, I think the whole world will be divorced like Donna's parents and that there will be no families left. All the kids will be left alone to raise themselves, like Hyde was, and they won't respect women or even themselves. Maybe even one day there will be no more babies and no more homes. All women will work like men do, and everyone in the world will live in tiny apartments alone. In twenty years, all this could happen, if things keep going like they are. So basically, I got out just in time - saved myself from the new revolution. When every other being in the universe retreats to his or her lonely box, Hyde and I will at least have each other.

Donna offers a penny for my distant thoughts and I wonder aloud if Bob will be back to grill me during the commercial breaks. She laughs and promises he just a little weirded out by the whole situation. "Ever since we found out he brings up all this stuff about when we were babies, you know. Like when he used to give us a bath, he swears you didn't seem strange then."

"Well, I was six when my mom decided it was a good idea for Hyde and I to take a bath together. And let's be honest, by that age my heterosexuality was fading at a near frantic pace."

Her smile is huge. "It's so weird that we can laugh about it. When I went away to school, it felt like the hardest thing I ever did. I would think about you all the time and wish you were with me. I guess I dreamed that you'd be there, eventually." She brushes her hair behind her ear and hides in her homework. I return to mine for only a moment before I realize she has started to cry. I reach for her hand and she grabs me like she's drowning and says, "I knew I loved you when you didn't laugh at me because of Tina."

I would never laugh about Tina. I don't know anyone who would be sick enough to dare. "What ever happened to her? Did your mom take her to California?"

She wipes away a tear and says no, smiling a strange smile. "She's in my room." I follow her quietly up the back stairs, but Bob hears us and calls out that he won't be disturbing us and that we can do whatever we want. How I would have loved to have heard something like that a year ago! Donna closes her bedroom door behind us and kneels in front of her dresser, carefully removing Tina and her blanket from the bottom drawer. She hands me the doll as if she were a real baby and tells me she took Tina to Chicago with her. "I made a baby bed for her in the dresser drawer and Jackie let me keep it open all the time. I have to close the drawer here so my dad doesn't see."

I rock and bounce baby Tina gently, counting out that she would be almost eleven years old had she not been still born. I remember the weeks Donna slept over and my mom took us somewhere fun every single day; Wisconsin Dells, the city pool, the movies, fun world, out to eat and to the zoo. Midge spent every day draped over the living room sofa, screaming, crying and basically scaring the living hell out of all of us. And then one night Bob brought home dolly Tina and all was well on the outside if not the inside.

Donna asks me if I think all the past life stuff is real, if what Irving and Josh said could be true and if we all shine on from life to life with the same people we love. I have to admit, in a way I kind of hope it is true, that we all go on together and have fabulous adventures up until the very end when we all go to be with Jesus. Then I wonder if a baby like Tina is born to die, over and over again, or if it's just the sad luck of the draw.

"According to Irving, in your next life Tina could be your mother or your husband or even your best friend."

She takes baby Tina from me and smiles through her tears. "If Jackie can be my cat, why not?"

To be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) Instant karma by John Lennon

:) Layla by Eric Clapton


	17. The Queen of Corona

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
Jennifer Ryan  
07/17/07

:)

**Bare my seal**

I pull the blankets up to my neck, then scrunch them in my fists, wide awake and bored. Eric's soft snores usually comfort me, but tonight they drive me up the wall. On nights that I work, I don't get home until he's already in bed and it sucks, because when I come home I want to do it. I know he feels bad; a couple times he actually fell back to sleep with his hands down my pants, and there is nothing less romantic for a guy than having his beloved conk out while jerking him off. Plus, in the morning before school, he wants it and I'm just getting my best sleep that time of morning.

I try to drown such depressing thoughts by closing my eyes and rocking with Ozzy's sweet words of love via my well worn eight track. "_Follow me now and you will not regret, leaving the life you led before we met."_ I turn toward Eric and sing softly into his ear, _"Your love for me has just got to be real ..." _

He makes a weird sound and flops over, smacking me in the chin with his hand and knees me right in the nuts. I push his leg away and lick him on the forehead, ignoring his slurred demand that I not sing. He uses my chest for a pillow and I wrap my arms around him and rub his back. "Forman, do you remember that thing you promised to let me do one day, like maybe for my fortieth birthday?"

He tiredly whispers no, forcing me to clarify. "No you don't remember or no we can't do it? You know, the thing everyone would know we did because we'd smell like salad for a week."

He looks up at me wiith eyes half open and says, "Oh, yeah. We'll do it when you're forty, I promise."

"Well, that's the good news, man. We don't have to wait until I'm too old to enjoy it. We can do it tonight. Roy bought a case of safflower oil for the hotel's kitchen. It smells like nothing."

"Can't we talk about it later when I'm awake?"

I tell him I need him groggy, so he'll meet my twisted demands. He slowly pushes himself to a sitting position and looks down at me drunkenly with one side of his hair sticking straight up into the hair for comic effect. "What is your strange fascination with this?"

"Forman, man, the government hates it when people have that kind of sex. Just ask your old man, fag equals pinko." Eric smiles and suggests _I_ be the one to ask his old man that question. "You know what I'm saying is true. It's like everyone around us is surfing through life, riding a crystal blue wave of expectation straight to Squaresville. Remember that not sleeping with me is tantamount to establishmentarianism, man."

"This from the guy who coined the phrase _conveyor belt of conformity_? I'm going back to sleep and I insist that you try to do the same," he fidgets, "because you're nearing the abyss."

"Don't use your hand gestures with me, Forman. I'm oblivious to their power." He rolls away from me, curled into a tight little ball on his side and tries to go back to sleep. I position myself behind him and tighten my arms around his body, forcing him to deal with me. "Don't get confident because you're not only going to do it, you're going to love it." He yawns wide and says maybe, which is really all my fragile heart needed to hear.

"I'll hold you to that. And don't bother wearing two pairs of underwear, Forman, alright, because we both know I'm good. I'm going to pester you until you cave and you will cave." I kiss the side of his head and slide a surprise on his finger before I jump out of the bed. "This is for you. I'm going to get something to eat."

He pushes himself up and stares at it, seemingly unable to process, so I take this chance to escape to the safety of the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and grab everything I'll need, keeping myself busy, trying to to think of the possibilities. I don't know why that was such a hard thing for me to do; it shouldn't have been. Maybe Eric could explain it with his gentle understanding and pop psychology BS, where everything in life has this underlying motive and old insecurity. I dig through the cupboard for chips to go with our sandwiches and look at the clock. It's 4:51 on a Tuesday morning. Finally I hear him on the stairs and I don't look up when the kitchen door swings, just hear myself nervously tell him that if he doesn't like it, he can toss it back in the night stand drawer from which it came.

"Why wouldn't I like it?" Unsure of what to say without sounding like a fucking moron, I shrug and allow him to continue. "I've never seen a mood ring that looks like a wedding band before, just the big ugly pearl looking ones."

"I got it at that record store over on Main Street."

"_Grooves?_ Yeah, they have cool stuff there. I found another in the drawer when I was looking for my magic eight ball. Aren't you going to wear it?"

I reach for it and he takes my hand, pushes it on my finger and smiles. I do, too, then return to cutting away the crust from his bread. "Cool."

"You're a man of few words, Hyde. I respect that." I grin and thank him as he continues to torment me. "No really, I respect the fact that you're keeping it real." He bites his sandwich and asks me that if ten years from now, I'll work up the courage to tell him we just got married.

"It's a secret marriage, Forman, that's why I didn't tell you about it." He throws his arms around me and hickies my neck, knowing I'm nervous, and teasingly asks when we'll adopt.

"Yeah, that's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about." He's stunned and confused, so I back him against the wall like a wild animal. He escapes me, so I grab our snack and chase him up the stairs to our room. He's laying across the two twin beds, hiding under the blanket and trembling in exaggerated terror. I take a small box from under the bed, sloppily wrapped in shiney silver paper and decorated with at least fifteen little bows of varying color. I push it under the sheets with him and see his blanket covered outline tear wrecklessly through the gift. He pauses and I watch him shift the box from side to side, complaining that it's awfully dark under all those layers. I toss the blankets aside and proclaim, "Let there be light!"

He surprised and joyful as he removes our newborn from its carton. "A pet rock!" I quickly aim the polaroid and capture the moment our son meets the world. Forman cradles him in both hands and laughs happily as I struggle to get enough pictures for all the relatives. That first picture is my very favorite and I'm positive it will be for the rest of my life. About thirty years later, at some lame assed APA convention that I suffered through to hear Eric lecture on psychiatric problems specific to young teenagers, it made it's public debut. An auditorium of about 500 psychiatrists, psychologist and high school guidance counselors were treated to the sight of my pajama clad idiot beloved at the age of eighteen, clear eyed and happy with hair flying in every possible direction, holding up a rock and smiling wider and more beautifully that I've ever seen anyone smile. When the write up was published in some stupid journal that I secretly bought twenty copies of, the picture graced its cover.

"Look in the box, Eric. He sleeps in a little nest." He holds the rock to his chest with one hand and removes the nest with my help. We place him carefully in his little bed and I take a few shots of him solo. "Got any names in mind?"

"I don't know, how about Rocky?" I make a buzz sound, telling him he's lucky I don't have a gong. "Ok, how about ... Clapton?"

His father throws open the door and yells, "What about dumb ass! Now put up your stupid toys and go to bed." Eric angrily whines that his father has interrupted a beautiful and important family moment, so Red calmly states that he's about to interrupt Eric's ass with his foot.

After I finish laughing, I tell Red that no one speaks with such disrespect to the mother of my pet rock. He's horrified when I hold up Eric's hand and confirm his worst fears. "That's right, Red. We're married now."

Before he can stammer a curse, Kitty pushes past him and smooches us both. "Isn't that just so cute, Red? Isn't it just precious?" She grabs each of our faces, tugging and nuzzling us until we've no choice but to dive under the safety of covers. Red grabs her arm and as he takes her back to bed she calls out for us to have safe sex. Red stops suddenly, his smile more like a snarl, and promises that the only safe sex is the kind that doesn't take place in his house. I quickly snap a picture of the expression, hoping to include it in this years Christmas card, and it quickly converts to a frown. Red flips off the light and mumbles an expletive that we both find hilarious.

Since Eric has to be to school in a few hours, we stay up and make out, eager to explore the joys of first time faithful, married sex. We are stopped only by the strange thumping sound from down the hall that I instantly recognize to be Red and Kitty's headboard hitting the wall. Unable to tolerate that particular sound, we toss on our clothes and collect a disgusted Laurie from her bed, destination Waffle World, home of Wisconsin's largest pancake breakfast.

**The Queen of Corona**

"I think the most amazing part about being pregnant, apart from knowing that I'll have a tiny version of myself to love, is that my boobs are really getting big." My sister takes a breast in each hand and massages them in wonder. "Look at them! They're like, three sizes bigger than before."

I take her syrup soaked plate away from her, but she grabs off the little container and downs straight maple before I can confiscate it, too. Hyde reaches out and smacks Laurie's hand. "Christ, woman, would you quit feeling yourself up. We're in a public place."

"She's on a sugar high and can't be stopped." I dip a chunk of my dry waffle in whip cream and marvel at how much Hyde sounds like a daddy. Unfortunately, I've said it out loud and Laurie and Hyde make fun of me.

"So little brother, now that you're married do you ever plan on using your husband's first name?" Hyde rests his arm along the booth behind me, careful not to spark the interest of the other patrons and repeats Laurie's question to me. I swear to him that I didn't know he had a first name, but would be more than glad to use it if he'll tell me what it is. He mouths the words _Steven Gregory Hyde_ and Laurie claps, exclaiming, "Hooray, love!" A few people look over to see Hyde and I with our hands flat on the table in front of us, looking confused and innocent.

I don't know if I can ever call Hyde by his first name, it just sounds so wrong. He calls me Eric all the time, as well as Forman, and I can't say I have a preference. I swirl a piece of waffle in strawberry sauce and think on my dilemna, unsure of what to do. Man, it's like everytime things start going good, something heavy like this comes along and stymies me.

"Forman, are you worrying yourself sick over what to call me?"

"Huh, I - no." I find myself stammering that I was just thinking about stuff ... like, general, everyday, nonstressful stuff that is completely unrelated to the conversation I just withdrew from.

Hyde leans back and laughs while smiling at me and I smile back, interrupted when Leo's giant head suddenly appears between us. "Morning, dudes. I wasn't going to come over until I saw your sister feeling herslef up." He pushes me over in the booth and takes the place next to me, glad for such an entertaining way to start his day. Our waitress recognizes Leo and offers him the usual as Laurie explains our situation.

Leo is surprised, but I wonder if he's also a little hurt that we didn't let him perform some kind of ceremony. A decorative certificate, displayed promenenty on his living room wall for the world to see, declares Leo the head of the _Church of the Flowering Moon_. He purchased it from the back of a magazine many years ago, as did the rest of his peers at the time, but takes far more pride in it than anyone really should. "No way, you dudes took the vows?"

I explain that we sort of did, in a roundabout way. "Hyde, or, Steven Gregory, if you will, tossed me a ring and left the room."

"Woah, that's romantic." I hold up my hand and Leo studies the ring carefully. "It's black, man. That means you're tense." Hyde explains that the ring's not broken, just bound to be black permanently, as I'm forever in the middle of a nervous spasm. I smack his arm then grab his hand to see his ring is still every color, all over the place and unreadable.

Hyde points out that my ring has a little dark blue in it. "That means he's hot for me." He says it with the usual cocky confidence he displays in public, the confidence I wish he really had in himself. I slide my hand under the table and place it on his knee. That's right, world, I'm naughty. Out of the corner of my eye, I'm shocked to see Laurie's rear end. She's turned around, leaning over the booth to flirt with a table of guys her age. She's talking hot shit to them, just dirty enough to hold their interest, and they ask if she wants to hang out. She stands to join them and one of the guys calls for her to stop. They all laugh when they see that she's no longer a hot girl, she's a pregnant chick. My sister isn't used to not being hot and she doesn't know how to handle it. The guys throw down a tip for the waitress and leave, laughing loud and clapping each other on the back. "We almost picked up a preggo, man!"

She sits down and for once, the sad look on her little face breaks my heart. Those selfish dicks didn't just burn my whore-ey sister, they burned her unfortunate and fatherless baby. The waitress tops off Hyde's and Leo's coffee and brings me and Laurie another round of chocolate milk. She puts her hand on my sister's shoulder and says, "Havin' my babies was the best thing I ever done for myself, girl. Don't let those boys make you feel bad."

Laurie thanks her and smiles, cheering that she can't possibley feel bad for long with such huge boobs.

"ALL RIGHT!" We turn at the excited exclamation to see Kelso and Fez enter with my math teacher and our old friend, Leon Miller. It looks like the three, every bit as unkempt as Leo, Hyde and I, spent the entire night partying. Not that Leon Miller doesn't always look unkempt, it's just that it's part of his image. He stands about 5 feet nine inches; six feet if you count his hair, which sticks straight up. He's got huge horn rimmed eye glasses and I've never seen him wear anything but brown cordorouys and a misbuttoned plaid shirt. His trademark is definately the fact that one tube sock is always showing, but it's not always the same one. His pants leg just always seems to ride up on one side. I find out why when he reaches down to scratch frantically at what appeanrs to be an eczema rash on his leg.

"Who's the dork?" Laurie asks. Hyde says it's just Kelso and we high five. We scrunch ourselves together in the booth so they can join us and Kelso introduces everyone to the coolest guy in the history of the world, Leon Miller, almost Ph.D.

My sister is wide eyed in disbelief as she asks if they man sitting next to her is really wearing penny loafers. He rewards her with a lopsided grin and takes her hand, pulling it close to kiss. "Leon Miller, my lady." He raises one eyebrow and asks, "I'm told you put out?"

"Oh, yeah, she does." Kelso answers for her as he gobbles our left overs. "I've done it with her like a thousand million times." Laurie asks if the D in Ph.D stands for doofus and Kelso quickly defends his friend. "He is a scientist and a genius, which you obviously cannot understand. That kind of pursuit does not leave a man with a lot of time to shoe shop."

"Or bathe, I see," she says with the predatory grin that crosses her face whenever she sniffs out a geek to torment. Not that I've ever received that look, I just - oh, who the hell am I kidding. "Wait a minute, aren't you the little boy who got his pee pee stuck in a glass bottle at Kelso's birthday party?"

He seems proud of the incident that has elevated him to living legend status among our group and quickly confirms that he is none other than HE. The great Leon Floyd Miller, not only a molester of long neck bottles, willing to do almost anything on a dare, but a science geek who approaches mathematics as a religious experience and teaches algebra as if speaking in tongues. His gravity-defying hair lends to the surreal movie star quality of the guy, as well as his ownership of Richard Dreyfusses' weird little voice. Maybe in a big city Leon wouldn't stand out or be noticed a bit, but in Point Place, Wisconsin he is one strangely exotic and interesting guy and I think he's really cool. Hyde sums it best when he puts his arm around me in a territorial manner and tells Leon he's _one weird mutherfucker._

It feels like everyone in the dinner is looking at us, suddenly, probably because we live in a small town and people heard Hyde use a cuss word. A couple of nervous laughs later, an elderly man passes our table and asks if I'm Red Forman's boy. When I confirm his suspicion, he's astonished. "Well, I'll be." He hobbles away, leaning heavy on his cane and asks that I tell him Mr. Halberry says hello. Wow. I smile, a little surprised that I can hold hands with a guy and not get my ass kicked, but this is only Waffle World, not the real one. I bet by the time we walk to the car there will be at least ten people throwing stuff at us and carrying torches.

Hyde's arm is tight around me and I cover his hand with my own. "You're hugging me and nobody looks mad."

"Then maybe I should kiss you," he smiles, and I agree that maybe he should. He does and I hear a couple of women gasp or giggle, and of course Kelso and my sister holler and hoot like a couple of jerks. I realize this place is half empty, it's only six in the morning, but this is still pretty cool. I know some people at the hotel have seen us together and a lot of the guys at school know, thanks to Donna, but now we're in a restaurant of families and elderly people and they look on us as a slight oddity, but a non threat. I could get used to this.

Steven Gregory and I look at each other for a long time, ignoring everything around us, even Leon flirting with my sister and Fez demanding that she turn her ears to his pathetic pleas. I'd laugh if I cared, I really would, but I think I'm busy being in love. The spell is broken when Fez crawls over Kelso to pump some change into the music box across the room in an attempt to impress my sister with his freaky foreign ass shaking. She refuses his advances with disgust, so he holds out a hand to his beloved play mate, Kelso, who's thrilled to dance with anyone anywhere, because he swears he looks hot doing it.

"In honor of my exwife, the queen of Corona, I shall now dance with another man to make you jealous and humiliate you publicly. You will regret playing hard to get with me, woman." He twirls Kelso and they dance before us in joyful abandon, not embarrassing Laurie at all, but making real idiots of themselves. Leon and Laurie get up and dance, too, hardly giving the pair a run for their money, but having fun. When it's time for the chorus, Kelso gets right up in my face with a spoon he's using as a microphone and sings, _"me and Julio down by the school yard."_

Leo drains my sister's chocolate milk and tells Hyde, "you sure know some weird people, man."

:)

To be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) N.I.B by Black Sabbath 1970  
:) Me and Julio down by the School Yard by Simon and Garfunkle


	18. Flirtin' with Disaster

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
by Jennifer Ryan  
07/25/07

:)

**Flirtin' with Disaster**

I sent my idiot beloved to the concert without me, escorted by my faithful consigliere Michael Kelso and my trusty sidekick, a 1967 El Camino with a fucked up radio, a smashed tail light and a bumper sticker that reads _Draft beer, not boys_. I'm working an extra shift and not minding much at all, since old Dorthea is teaching me how to be a chef in a semi-fancy restaurant. I like to cook and it's not so hard at a place like this. She sends me to the Piggly Wiggly for all the leg quarters they have in the freezer and Dorthea shows me how it's done here, all la-dee-dah with orange sauce, garlic and onions. It's served over some fancy rice that takes more than a minute to cook and vegetables I didn't grow up with, like three kinds of squash. She teaches me to slice fast and make sophisticated cuts that will dazzle our guests and I transform turnips into little flowers for practice.

She talks a lot about growing up in the south and explains family recipes that make me want to gag, like hog intestines, or chitlins. She laughs that when she married and moved north, she made chitlins for his family and their immigrant neighbors called the cops, worried that the smell was a dead body. She was fifteen years old at that time and when the police came she threw herself to the ground and begged them not to murder her and her new sisters; the sisters of her husband. They laughed their asses off and left, noses covered, and that was her introduction to midwestern hospitality.

She remembers little things, dumb stuff, like the old iron biscuit cutter they were given as a gift because it's maker had ruined it and it wasn't circle shaped at all. My personal favorite story involves the dress and matching head scarf she made out of an old table cloth a neighbor had discarded. Her laughing is near hysterical when she exclaims, quite unabashed, that "all those northern folks thought I was a country nigger straight off the Aunt Jamima bottle. Couldn't throw nothin' in the trash with out askin' me first. No sir."

Her husband worked and died young on the trains, moving back and forth across the country to support his family, though his own father had died building some of the very tracks he traversed. She has the best old stories about beautiful and fascinating people and remembers everything first hand, such as the sinking of the Titanic and the Great Depression. All her uncles were cowboys or railway workers, except for her cousins who were bookies and involved with the mob. I'm learning a lot from her about cooking and about life, and find I really like it. Maybe I've found my niche; perhaps my destiny is to be a great negro chef.

But back to my story. I sent Eric to the concert with Kelso because I had to work. Everything should have been fine. The worst I imagined is that maybe Kelso would wonder off and be left behind - no big deal. I taught Eric to drive a stick years ago and frankly, he and the car are my central concern. So fifteen minutes until midnight, I finish tomorrow's prep work and start cleaning up, because if every thing isn't spotless Levina and her sisters are thrown into a psychotic episode and there's nothing more disturbing than pissed off Amish women. I'm almost finished when Laurie calls me, taunting that Eric and Kelso are in lockup - got pulled over after the concert and daddy's asleep, but maybe she should wake him up. We argue, expectedly, never able to resist tossing around words like orphan and whore, but she promises not to say anything for now. Whore.

In minutes I'm at the police station, unable to find a parking spot for the Vista Cruiser. It's not just a concert night, it's a Saturday, so every person in town under thirty is either locked up or claiming someone. A group of young ladies pass and I smile at them, but they notice my uniform and the station wagon and laugh wildly, making me feel like the squarest asshole in the world. I pull off my smock and throw it in the back seat, pissed that I'm here smelling like garlic and with frizzy hair.

I've been on a first name basis with the Point Place police department since I was six years old, first as Bud and Edna's kid, but later as a young mastermind able to hold his own against the mundane criminal element that menaces a place like Wisconsin. The desk sergeant is Jacob Peele, hair graying now and with a little more weight than the younger man who constantly threatened to box my ears. He smiles when I reach his desk and greets me as Mr. Camino, quite the smart guy as he tells me how shocked and disappointed the boys were to pull over my car but not find me in it.

"I'm here for Eric Forman."

"Of course you are. Curious as to why were holding him?"

I grin and tell him I assumed the boys in blue saw my El Camino driving on the road insead of the sidewalk for once and became suspicious. He agrees that this is absolutely true, but they found something disturbing in my trunk and he asks if there's anything I'd like to admit. A surge of panic runs through me for just a second, because I don't know what he could mean. The last time I checked my trunk, it contained a spare tire, a moth-eaten old blanket, a couple of flash lights, an old thermos with no top and a some manuals from high school shop class.

He pulls a manila envelop from behind the desk and looking disgusted, dumps its contents on the counter before me. Two of Jackie's beloved Barbie dolls lay naked and dirty, their tiny wrists and ankles bound with duct tape. I flash back to the last time Jackie and I broke up, the night I kidnapped her dolls and drunkenly performed lewd sexual acts on them. At least, I think that's what happened. I was very drunk at the time, but I think Fez took pictures. I hear a couple of the guys behind us laugh, I'm sure this has been the talk of the station, and though I'm slightly embarrassed I tell him he can't hold my boy for dolly torture. He informs me they found weed in the glove compartment. Seventy-five dollars bail, here's a ticket for Eric's appearance. Fuck.

I pay the money and wait, suffering the knowing winks of the men I'd waged a water balloon war against at the age of nine. They smile and agree I don't look so damn tough now, and what can I do but cast my glance downward and silently concur. The last eleven years have not been kind to me, as is obvious from my steam soaked and oil stained clothing. And if that isn't humiliating enough, I'm going to have to explain raping those damn plastic dolls to Red AND some jerk court officer. I'm almost nineteen years old and all I have to my name are a gangly boy toy and an ultra hot car. The thought of that sobers me quickly as I realize that it is so much more than I deserve or ever thought I would have. I smile to myself and think that as long as I've got Eric and the Camino, I'm doing alright.

Kelso waltzes out of the holding area with a huge grin and proudly exclaims that he did it standing up in a bathroom stall with _the brainy chick_ who graduated a year ahead of us. I laugh, secure in the knowledge that he's hallucinated, but gently tell him that I believe he believes it. I look past him to see the officer still holding open the door, but no Eric appears. I haven't time to be alarmed when the officer calls out for him, "Come now, lad. I've told you already, we'll not keep you locked up just because you're afraid of your boyfriend."

Eric walks out slowly, with a shy wave and something of a nervous smile. Kelso admits casually, as if an after thought, "Forman wrecked the Camino." Eric squeaks that it's just a scratch, but Kelso huffs and extends his arms in wild hyperbole. "Yeah, a scratch like, a mile long or something." When I calmly tell Kelso I get the picture, he practically screams, "we're talkin' from tip to tail, man!"

I smack Kelso in the arm so hard it makes Eric flinch, probably because he's sure he's next. I take hold of Eric, leading him to the car while demanding to know how bad it is really. Kelso jumps into the back seat and launches into some drunken bullshit about being sassed by light post. Eric ignores me completely and says that his dad is going to kick him out. I agree that if he finds out, he probably will. This could be it; the last big fuck up. Red has laid it out repeatedly, in terms that are in no way uncertain, that drug use in his house equals death by foot in the ass. There are about six weeks left in Eric's school semester and I have to be honest, I can't afford tuition plus the rent and utilities on our own place. It's kind of a one or the other situation. Surely Red wouldn't be that damn cruel. Then again ... no. No he wouldn't. "He's not going to find out, don't worry." I try to be nonchalant when I turn and ask, "so when I see this scratch, on a scale of one to ten, it's a what?"

He looks hopeful as he rates it as a three. Kelso laughs and hollers, "It's an eleven!"

Eric leans back and tells him to shut up and I take a deep calming breath so that I can be rational. Then I switch gears and holler, "DAMN IT! How the hell did you manage an eleven!"

He explains with such frustration that it comes across as a single sentence. "I was trying to roll down the window after Kelso farted and he grabbed my arm so I couldn't and I over corrected and it's only a three! OKAY? OKAY? A three!" He closes his eyes and turns away, letting the night air cool him. I put my hand is his hair and caress, softly cooing that everything will be alright as soon as I kick Kelso's stupid ass.

Kelso whines that I always take Eric's side and then has the nerve to get angry when I agree with him. "I will always take Eric's side over anyone. He has sex with me, you moron." He throws himself back against the upholstery and mumbles the word gross, which makes the both of us smile. Eric leans on my shoulder and wraps both his arms around mine as I announce to Kelso that I think I'm going to get some tonight.

"Aw, man, come on, Hyde. Forman, make him stop."

"I'm sorry, Kelso. I can't make him stop," he deadpans. "He's my man and I love him."

Done with us once and for all, Kelso holds forward both hands in the sign that demands a time out. "Just drop me off here and I'll walk the rest of the way, okay, because I cannot hear this." I promise to behave myself and once he relaxes, Forman and I french each other sloppily. "I swear, man, stop the car or I'm jumping out."

"Kelso, man, When I broke things off with Jackie you did nothing but make out with her in front of me so you could rub it in my face every chance you got."

"At least I was rubbing my face against a chick, Hyde. I've got nothing against the weird and unnatural stuff you guys are in to, okay. You know it's not in me to be judgemental, but there are certain naked things that I don't want to picture. I mean, can't you tell this stuff to Fez or does he just hide in your closet and watch like he did with Eric and Donna."

Crap, I never considered Fez might do something like that to Forman and me, though I think he's done it to everybody. I close my eyes and sigh, recounting all the dumb assed baby talk and making out and private sweet stuff that no one else in the world is ever allowed to know about. I'm going to have to hurt him whether he did it or not. "Where is all this coming from in the first place, Kelso? Since when does any of this shit interfere with your sleep?"

"Since some dick at the concert thought I was Forman's old man." Eric and I both laugh loud at that one as Kelso pleads for our indignation. It's explained to me they ran into people from school, all of whom were made privy to young Eric's sensibilities by his blathering ex-girlfriend. "I guess they figured Eric and I were on a date because I'm so hot that I'm every one's wet dream. Don't worry, though, because I told all of them that you and Forman tied the knot in the gayest pink, flowery ceremony I've ever seen." I feel his hand touch my shoulder as he promises my Eric was both safeguarded and entertained, except for the twenty minutes he needed to nail Brooke _what's her name_, the poor dear.

Eric informs me that Kelso made up an incredible amount of crap about me to protect his own image, including telling most of the jocks from our high school that I wore a white wedding dress and that Forman keeps me on a short leash. Eric explains he did nothing to discourage this because he was afraid they would start making fun of him instead of me. He swears that he loves me; he really does, but it was funny and he enjoyed not being the focus of their ridicule for once. That's fine with me. I'm tough and I can take it. Ungrateful jack ass.

"Well, Kelso, I don't know how to thank you," I smile. "So when we get to your place, I'll let Forman thank you for me."

He's fed up now and reprimands us for laughing at him, demanding I pull over and let him out. I warn him that such a drastic action would be suicide, which distracts him from his tantrum by peaking his interest. He can't imagine what I mean so I remind him of the vision I had at Leo's place.

"The one where I was a priest and Eric was a chick? You told me you couldn't remember the details anymore."

"Yeah, but Eric told you about the part I did remember, right? The part about you being in danger."

"Eric didn't tell me anything!"

Forman is a little confused at first but plays along as best he can. "Oh, the ... yeah, I thought YOU told him, ummm ... about the curse." By the time I'm finished arguing that I didn't tell him because I thought Eric wanted to tell him, Kelso threatens that someone better spill it. Eric fumbles for the words, struggling to assemble a psychological attack that is both entertaining and plausible.

"Well, you were a monk or whatever and we were in Japan. It was, at least, a billion years ago and I think you know exactly who lived in Japan a billion years ago." Kelso snaps his fingers in recognition and Eric nods seriously in confirmation, "That's right, Kelso. It's Godzilla. The spirit of ancient Godzilla swore revenge on you and promised to be reincarnated as modern Godzilla in the year 1979 and, oddly enough, right here in Wisconsin." Eric shrugs, fascinated that ancient Godzilla could possibly know such details, but Kelso maintains that it makes perfect sense, as the creature obviously possesses psychic abilities.

"Hyde, I can't believe you didn't come to me with this information right away. I mean, it's Godzilla, the smartest of all the dinosaur monsters to ever walk the planet and here I don't speak one word of Japanese." His disappointment both delights me and breaks my heart, because I know he'll be an inconsolable wreck when the monster doesn't show up to lay waste to the city. He throws his hands in the air and huffs. "I'm going to need a phrase book, twinkies, some fire crackers and about thirty rolls of duct tape, and that's just off the top of my head." He asks if I can remember anything else, any detail that might aid in Godzilla's capture and defeat. I swear I don't, but warn him that he's going to need a hell of a lot of twinkies to set up a good trap.

"No, the two of you are going to need a hell of a good story to keep Red's foot out of Forman's ass when you guys get home."

I ask to borrow some of his duct tape and twinkies, in case we need to set a trap of our own, but he denies me, certain he'll need every bit he can get his hands on. Forman continues to whine that his father is going to kick his ass, swearing that Red doesn't remember what it's like to be young and have young people problems. "It's like, the biggest problem my dad has ever had is deciding whose ass to shove his foot in."

:)

**Green Bay, Wisconsin, 1956**

It was sometime in late February when I made the trip back to Green Bay to do the one thing I'd been long dreading. I look back on that day with a feeling of incredible regret, because it permanently and irrevocably changed my life.

I'd managed to get good steady factory work in a plant in Waushara county and was ready to buy my wife her first home, but met with constant obstacles. The car was falling apart, we didn't own our own appliances and our first baby was expected in August. Our apartment was drafty and small, inadequate for raising a family by any standard. Kitty worked at the hospital to help build our savings, but she'll be a mother this year and a mother is not made to work unless her husband can't support her. We'll be trapped in that apartment another year unless my father will float me a loan.

I loved my father very much back then; I respected him. He was an upright guy, a hard worker, an unflinchingly responsible, no nonsense Irish flat foot. He was also a hard man, an unforgiving bastard sometimes, but nothing I couldn't handle because I took after him more than I've ever cared to admit. I have since day one and I firmly believe that was my saving grace. He prepared me for the lifestyle military service affords and raised me to be the head of a household. I joined the navy at seventeen and defended my country in both Japan and Korea, much as my father did in the Great One. He was a church attending Christian and a staunch Republican, ready to knock some sense into the entire pansy-assed world should the occasion arise. I admired his steadfast resistance and ability to dominate and control any situation, but I was his oldest and favorite son, his clone and heir, and I never saw the side of him my baby brother did, not until that day.

My mother had been gone about one a week, fulfilling her role as a dutiful daughter by caring for her own ailing mother in South Bend. The freshly shoveled walk boasted no ice at all and snow was piled at least three feet on each side. It was a horrible winter that year, I remember, making our apartment near impossible to heat. Kitty and I both suffered the season with long lasting colds, which led me back to my father's home. I trudged that sidewalk in shame and stood long at the front door, ready to swallow my pride and confess to him that I was a man who couldn't support his family. My heart pounded as I entered and I broke into a cold sweat at the prospect of approaching my father with my hat in my hand like a common beggar. Though I'd fought and killed in war and buried childhood friends in foreign soil, I was terrified of standing before him like a dumb ass; a failure as a man. As I toured his home, I thought perhaps that I had earned a reprieve, that no one was around. How unbelievably wrong I was.

I stepped onto the back porch, thinking I'd find dad working with his tools. What I found was my fifteen year old brother handcuffed to the porch railing. My father's service revolver, his trusty companion since the day he'd first walked a beat, lay several feet away on a table top next to his reading glasses and his morning paper. I froze in shock as Marty looked up at me in terror, his eyes bloodshot and swollen. He knelt on the deck, unable to straighten and I knew when I saw him that my father had beaten him viciously. My father hit us all the time when we were kids, his temper could be unquenchable, but he'd never done anything like this to either of us; at least, not to me. This I never suspected. Had it happened before? Marty would never tell me, not then and not now. Unbeknownst to me, I was dad junior in his eyes - another enemy, a merciless second tormentor.

For as long as I can remember I've suspected my baby brother to be queer. There is no singular event to which I can trace that suspicion, no defining moment or dominating trait. Despite attending every social function with Mary Louise or her sister Ellen, he tried to play the ladies man and failed miserably. I always suspected that he had something going on with the physical education instructor at the high school and I discovered it was fact when I found the man's picture taped inside his copy of _Peyton Place_.

My father stepped out of the garage and smiled, waving when he saw me standing dumb struck over my brother. He walked tall, proud of himself that he'd tied down a fifteen year old boy and beaten him with a belt and G-d knows what else. He stood in front of me and said my brother was a faggot, but not anymore. A jolt of terror spread through me and I became light headed in fear of what he implied. I'd never really known my own father until that day, never saw him through the eyes of others. I'd quarrelled with my wife so many times and decried her harsh and naive judgement. She could never put into words what she found so despicable about the man. It was some undefinable thing that she just knew, something innate that told her he was not to be trusted. And I defended him to her. Now I saw the man, not yet sixty with gray hair and horn rimmed glasses, threatening my terrified brother.

I knew he couldn't really mean to kill him, it had to be some sort of horrible game devised to scare him straight. I felt sickened as he launched into a speech about his own father, a lawyer and a hanging judge, and his grandfather, a revered grand master of the Klan. His uncles, cousins and his own brothers as well as theirs were police and military officers, all proud and upstanding, all defenders of our country, just like himself and just like me. Law abiding, law enforcing, honorable men; not homosexuals - not heathens like Marty.

Something snapped in me then, hearing myself compared to those people. I met no resistance as I picked up my father's gun from the table, since it seems he thought I wanted to play, too. I don't know where the voice came from, somewhere above me though it was my own, and I heard it tell my father that it would sooner put him down like a rabid dog than raise a hand to an innocent boy. There's so much I don't remember, we fought for so long. I don't recall kicking in the porch railing so Marty could run free, but I remember holding the broken wooden beam in my hand and shaking it with such fury I thought the world would end. I know my father's anger matched with mine as we sparred, both shaking in our rage. I had betrayed him, was a worthless son, an ungrateful bastard, and a disappointment. I'd broken the chain, the long haughty line of Republican, nigger hating misogynists. I was every foul word in the dictionary to him suddenly, yet had never felt such pride. The father who was my idol, was to me the very measure of a real man, wasted away and died in front of me that day. We never spoke to each other again and I never got the six hundred and fifty dollars for which I'd come to ask.

I collected my teenage brother from his bedroom, stuffed his school clothes into my old navy duffel and told him to leave everything else behind. I held his hand as I lead him out the front door of the only home he had ever known, because I was his father now. As I put him in my car I heard the man who used to be my dad say, "both of my sons are dead!"

He did not allow my mother to contact us and she obeyed him until the day he died, not knowing she had a new grandson until the funeral. I came with Marty and stood beside my father's casket as a courtesy to my mother and as a show for our neighbors, none of whom were aware of the sick secrets that destroyed our home. I shook hands with his old navy buddies and the guys from the force. I thanked them for their kind stories and thoughtful considerations, introducing them to my beautiful new baby boy who they all swore looked like his grandfather. I silently prayed that was untrue, I begged G-d to never let a fate so cruel befall my child, and I knew somehow my prayers would be answered.

Marty turned nineteen the very day our father was put into the ground and years later he told me it was one of the happiest days of his life. He told me that he stood over his father's grave and rejoiced as the victor, reviling in the old demons vincibility, but feeling no remorse because he was certain they'd be reunited in Hell. Marty was terribly far gone in those days, tried to commit suicide twice and was institutionalized for several months before I could keep him at home with me and allow him to be around my children.

I had so much to atone for and I achieved it through him, I think. He slept on the sofa of our cramped apartment with Laurie's crib beside him. As babies go, she was a poor confidant for my brother, but an excellent judge of character, screaming all night, every night to drown out his stories of unrequited love and teenage angst. When we purchased the house in Point Place, Laurie was three and Eric had just been born. Baby Eric was Laurie's polar opposite. Where Laurie resembled me, not only in dashing good looks but in unyielding attitude and intolerance for stupidity, Eric took after Kitty in both calm patience and sweet disposition. Everyone marveled at our quiet, happy bundle who never seemed to cry, probably because both fists were shoved into his mouth at all times. Marty drug the bassinette into his room every night so they could play house. I would stand outside the door as my brother told baby Eric all his secrets and dreams, pouring out his heart to my son as if he were a living, wiggling diary. Marty swore to me Eric would be a shrink one day, that he could see it all in his tiny, knowing eyes and I believed it. When you are as pliant and easygoing as he was then and is now, people gravitate toward you with their issues. It's only right that a person with no threshold for idiocy be allowed to hang up a sign demanding fifty bucks.

Eric was six months old when Marty, who was about to start the junior college, ran off with a much older man he'd met at the K - Mart. He called me every week at first, to thank me and so I wouldn't worry. I called him a dumb ass and handed the telephone to my wife. Five years later the man died of cancer and left Marty homeless and half finished with veterinary school. I sent him what little I could, which was seventy-five dollars. Three weeks later he sent me back double and said he'd met Kevin at the horse track. Kevin was followed by Mark and after Mark was Christopher, probably the biggest idiot of them all. Christopher was said to be the one, the one who could aways be trusted and who would never leave. They came to visit one time and one time only. I found Christopher in my sailor suit and Marty dressed like a pirate. I promised Christopher that he could keep the damn uniform if he promised never to wear it in front of me again. They left the next afternoon and a month later Christopher and Marty were history, but kept their respective uniforms for their next big adventure. Since Christopher, my brother hasn't been able to eat a damn box of _Cracker Jacks_ without looking wistful.

:)

**There goes Tokyo**

We parked outside of Kelso's apartment, arguing for almost an hour before I caved and took him to Leo's place. I mumbled to myself all the way there, pissed that Eric will fall asleep before I can get down his pants. I was sure tonight would be the big night that we'd get to use the safflower oil, maybe even five of six times, because I'll bet you anything that number three "scratch" is really a number eleven "major body damage". I figured I'd call in dead to work and Eric would keep me in that bed for the weekend in an attempt to prevent me from picking up the Camino.

It's nearing three in the morning so I don't bother to knock, just figure if Leo's passed out stoned we can step over him to get to his stash. I use my key, trying not to make too much noise, but Leo is awake and Josh and Irving are still here. They acknowledge us with a nod, but quickly return to their chants. With _japa mala_ in hand, they pray in sync, one mantra for each of its one hundred and eight beads. We are happily excluded from their activities until Josh catches a glimpse of Kelso and freaks out.

"HOUSHI-SAMA!" His beads spill to the floor and he throws himself at Kelso's feet, followed by a shocked Irving who is weeping with what appears to be relief and joy. Kelso turns to me and points out that his Puma tennis shoes are brand new. He whispers that these guys must really be poor to be so impressed. I take Eric's hand and walk to the kitchen for a drink, stopping only to splash hello to Benny, because I much prefer watching these people from across the room.

"Houshi-sama, most honorable one, we have finally found you!" Irving cries. Kelso just smiles as Josh agrees they would recognize him in any incarnation.

"Hyde, man, did you guys hear that?" Kelso beams. "I'm a Hiroshima."

"I'm happy for you," I promise, pulling Eric onto my lap so we can at least split a beer and make out before the night's over. "Ask if they have any pot."

"Not Hiroshima," Irving warns, "Houshi-sama, buddhist priest. You are the great one. Finally, you have been reborn." Josh adds that he and Irving have searched for him for more than four hundred years and demands to know where he has been all this time.

"Well, my dad is named Jonathan and my mom is Karen. They're both from here. Uh, before I was born I was a sperm, and right before that I was in Heaven."

"Of course!" Josh pushes Kelso to his knees in front of Benny's pool and gives him a string of beads. "Heaven was the safest place to train and increase your strength until you could be reborn. Are you strong enough to fight, Houshi-sama?"

"Oh, definitely. So whose ass are we kickin'?"

Josh and Irving seem confused, not that I care because Forman's tongue is down my throat. I mention that since it's so late, we may as well stay up and get my car from impound when they open. His startled look is expected as is his yanking the front of my jeans open and pulling me into Leo's bedroom. I am going to milk this thing all weekend.

"Honorable priest, Jigoku will chose a new form is this life, so that you cannot recognize him. Over the centuries his powers have increased in each incarnation. I fear we have lost much time preparing you."

"Don't be so hard on yourselves, you guys, I've been having a ball so far. So, this Jigoku is a foreign exchange student or what?"

"Jigoku is evil itself. In your last life you fought, sealing him in the netherworld. But he was not defeated, only ejected from this plane of existence. He will return to you in every life until his soul is extinguished."

Eric and I exit the bedroom hand in hand as the gang surrounds Benny's pool. Leo takes his special and favorite blue bong from the armoire, the one I thought I'd have to die to use, and fills it. We smoke and Eric blows some to a playful Benny who jumps through a poorly formed smoke ring. I'm not sure if I really just saw that, but if I did - that was fucking awesome. Man, I needed this tonight. Eric jerked me off a little rough because Leo's dog was watching and it made him tense and then he almost bit my shlong off when Dr. Zhivago barked at him. I figure once we get home Red will make sure neither of us can relax and I just really like this pot, man. I should give Red some of it! Irving remarks on how amazing it is that the three of us found each other so quickly in this life, and I shrug, really not interested. It was a cool vision I had here, but I don't really believe in any of that shit. Although I'm sure a samurai warrior is exactly what I would have been in another life, if I really lived before. I sigh and picture Eric as the young girl in a green miniskirt from my hallucination, but my reverie is broken as Kelso announces that Jigoku, the evil one, is coming soon.

"That's why I came here tonight, actually. Jigoku has revealed his new form to me." Irving and Josh are near panic as Kelso tells him about the Godzilla thing Eric made up earlier. We choke back laughter and tears as Kelso lays out the facts as well as his plan.

"Most honorable priest, I do not think this is a genuine vision." Josh says, looking overly concerned. "Jigoku could be trying to fool you."

Kelso says there is virtually no chance of that. "I've been waiting for this all my life. It's real."

"But Houshi-sama," Irving stammers, "Godzilla is a movie!" Kelso disagrees and corrects him, confident that Godzilla was actually a documentary.

Irving and Josh join hands with Kelso, reciting a mantra in japanese, and even though I don't speak the language, I'm sure my stoned ass heard _G-d help us._ Benny splashes them all and Kelso childishly splashes him back. The monks demand Kelso accompany them back to their monastery in Kentucky, where he will be trained in kung fu, meditation and the mystical. He's more excited than I've ever seen him in his life as they explain the basic spells and other magics he will learn.

"But most importantly, Houshi-sama, do you have an automobile? We hitchhiked here."

"In the morning I'll hit my mom up for gas money and we're goin' to Kentucky, man!"

They warn he will train hard for the final battle, because it's one that could well determine the fate of all mankind. Uninterested, I lock Eric and myself in Leo's bathroom so we can take a shower together. I think he's feeling guilty enough to soap me good.

:)

To be continued ...

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) Flirtin' With Disaster by Molly Hatchet  
: )Godzilla by Blue Oyster Cult

:)

I'm told that by making so many references to the 70s, the younger readers who WEREN'T ALIVE THEN are being left out of the loop, so let me note that:  
:) Cracker Jacks caramel corn has (or used to at least) a picture of a guy in a sailor suit on the box.  
:) Aunt Jamima syrup was one of the many products on the market that depicted african-americans in an unflattering and stereotypical light.  
:) Peyton Place was one of the sexier and more scandalous literary works of the 1950's. It would probably be equivalent to the TV show _Desperate Housewives_  
:) A gay person was often referred to as "queer" or "a queer", although "gay" had already gained popularity. Homosexual(ity) was often reserved for labeling as a mental illness. Queer was one of the politest terms that could be used, even though it's not so common anymore.  
:) A consigliere is the most trusted adviser to a mob boss. What's his name who played f or Springsteen's band was Tony Soprano's consigliere.  
:) Someone asked why I spell "G-d" this way. No, I'm not Jewish, but I like their idea that the name is too Holy to be written and because someone might destroy the paper on which it exists. Sometimes I forget and don't find it in a story, so that's why I'm inconsistent.  
:) houshi-sama - honorable buddhist priest  
:) japa mala - prayer beads  
:) Jigoku - hell (Naraku also means hell, or underworld, but I've used Jigoku for him here to make the reference as generic as possible for readers who don't plan to follow this stories optional "Inuyasha" sequel)


	19. Skylab Land Here

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
by Jennifer Ryan  
02/14/08

:)

**With my Fez on**

The great thing about a pregnant woman is that as soon as she becomes fat, she must be on the top for sex. Instead of driving Laurie home from class today, I brought her to my apartment under the pretense of feeding her this really great flavor of ice cream I recently discovered, but guess what - I lied. It was only neapolitan; too bad, baby.

I tell her Michael must have eaten the magical mystery treat - the sick bastard, and she agrees Kelso has a way of ruining good things. So I fix her an over sized bowl of neapolitan with a banana and some cherries and chocolate syrup and whipped cream and anything else that strikes her fancy. I dig through the top cabinet and ofter her Twinkies and Captain Crunch cereal to add to her sundae, but she is too busy eating to answer me.

I eat my snack cake slowly ... seductively, hoping the slightest suggestion of anything sexual will make her underpants slide to the floor. These last several weeks I have been wearing her down with my begging and since her belly has surely become too large for her to satisfy herself, she will need Fez to satisfy her. She just doesn't know it yet. Even though I have written many notes offering her my services, she checks the box reading no, but her willingness to come to my apartment says her true answer is maybe.

"This is a really great apartment, Fez. You don't know what a drag it is to live with my brother and his pet orphan." In between handfuls of dry cereal she tells me she can't wait to have her own place and that when Eric is at school Hyde spends the day writing stupid, depressing poetry about love and dying.

"I know, he showed me some." I say matter-of-factly, breaking the last cake in half and handing her the larger portion. "You know, you could move in with Michael and me, but, we only have two bedrooms so you would have to share my bed."

"That's generous. I'll think about it and tell you no later." She tries to push herself from the counter but can't lever her body from the chair. It frustrates her terribly, something I find strangely erotic. I picture myself her white knight, pulling her from her seat and gently rolling her to the bedroom on her side as if she was a beach ball, kissing her each time she turns to face me.

During her struggle, she belches loudly and I feel myself become excited. I place one hand behind her back, the other on her arm and lift her in one fluid motion. Before she can thank me I put a finger to her lips, silencing her, and direct her toward my bed. "We are going to make sweet love for at least forty-five minutes, Laurie Forman, and I will not take no for an answer. You are my woman."

She pauses briefly, as if considering, then smiles with nonchalance. "Okay, but I'm lactose intolerant so I might be a little gassy from the ice cream."

"Me, too." I usher her through the doorway, kicking past a laundry basket of clean clothes and pulling shut the curtains. I give the Kool-Aid sleeping bag that tops my bed a good shake in case there are cracker crumbs and arrange the pillows neatly in case she wants to hit me with them later. She sits on the foot of the bed and arches her back into a stretch, moaning with relief as she lies back. I help her remove her tennis shoes and socks, but I do it slowly in hopes it will turn her on. It doesn't. She unbuttons her shirt while I work on her pants and I hiss in grateful affirmation as giant pink cotton maternity underwear are revealed to me. I, Fez, have struck gold. Mentally, I chant _I'm going to dooo it, I'm going to dooo it, I'm going to dooo it_ and worry I've said it aloud when she breaths a small laugh and, as if just realizing, accuses me of not lasting forty-five minutes last time.

"Well, excuse me for living. I was overexcited the last time!"

Her expression tells me she's thinking hard, reflecting on our last encounter. "You know, come to think of it you barely lasted five minutes. I think that was the shortest, crappiest sex I've ever had."

I remove my own shirt and tell her it is only right I am given the chance to make up for my poor performance. "We will just practice until you are pleased with me. The baby will not interrupt us for at least three more months."

"Yeah? Us?" Her smile is soft and a little surprised that I would mention the baby as a person all his own or perhaps myself in the same sentence with him. I don't know what the problem is with American men, they are all baby haters and women haters, only wanting sex. I was raised with solid Catholic priorities - to want a lot of babies and a lot of sex!

I lay myself beside her and she rolls on top of me - _because we're going to doooo it_ - and says maybe she'll give me a chance one of these days. Well, that and we're going to doooo it! She rises to sit on my lap and I take a strand of her hair in one hand, cup a breast in the other and tell her she's a pretty little thing.

She has no witty remark or sarcastic put down, she just smiles with lots of teeth then lets her head fall back and begins to moan. I sit up and kiss every inch of her and she tells me it would be a really great idea if we did this every afternoon when school is over. I praise her copiously, she really deserves it for thinking of something so wonderful, and continue kissing and nipping her earlobes and neck, pressing her breasts against my chest as she wiggles and writhes under my attention. My touches are long and light and in all the places I know will make her squeal. She positions herself to allow me entrance and before I know it I'm telling her that I have a goldfish and take really good care of it.

She stills and looks down at me like I'm crazy, so I clarify that taking care of a wife and a baby are a lot like taking care of a goldfish and that I am very good with responsibility. She snorts and calls me stupid, then goes back to work, helping me establish a comfortable rhythm, but all I can think of is that a goldfish is a big responsibility and if I add a wife and a baby I might not be able to handle a goldfish anymore.

Maybe I could take him to Leo's house and let him live in the pool with Benny. He might enjoy having a friend to swim around with and teach him big fish ways. I'll call Leo later or maybe I will see him tonight at the basement when we all play cards. Sometimes he shows up and sometimes he doesn't, which might mean he has a girlfriend. I will ask him that when I see him. But if he does have a girlfriend, maybe she will not welcome another fish in the house. A lot of women do not care for slimy pets who don't like to cuddle and play and she might even have a cat, which is not a good thing to have around a small fish. My thoughts are shattered by Lauries' howls of joy and I realize - AY DIOS MIO - I missed the fireworks!

She drops down beside me, cuddling close. "Damn, Fez. That was way better than last time." Her hand moves up and down my chest and she thinks aloud that maybe she should be my woman.

:)

**SKYLAB LAND HERE**

When Kelso's mom refused to give him gas money to join Leo's friends at the monastery in Kentucky, he ran away from home. Granted, he no longer lives with his parents, but it was his grandmother's birthday last evening and they had a house full of guests. So when Kelso didn't arrive as instructed, his mother checked his apartment and found a good-bye note promising she would never find him, never, ever, ever. Naturally, she came here, where a delighted Red escorted her to our basement _Global Command Center_.

Because I find myself unable to lie to a beautiful woman, but mainly because I was enjoying an episode of Star Trek, I grunted and pointed her toward my old bedroom where the prodigal idiot was reading a comic. After two full minutes of whining, he threw himself to his knees so she couldn't force him to leave. But Karen Kelso has been a mother far longer than Michael has been a kid, so unfazed, she grabbed him by the arm and drug him to the back door, spanking him all the way.

So the next morning when Kelso visits, he doesn't find it strange that I'm in the same spot he left me, working through my third six-pack of Coors and staring at an episode of _The Superfriends_. He thrusts his fist in my face and shouts, "Wonder twin powers, activate! Oh, I see you've already taken the form of a douche bag."

He bounces and rocks on his heels, clapping his hands in self congratulation and doing the idiotic _I just burned someone_ victory dance that I'm hopeful will one day be mistaken for a seizure, so I'll get to see the ambulance haul him away. Then I grab the front of his t-shirt and pull him down, causing him to somersault over me and land on the couch with his head in my lap. Since he's unharmed enough to giggle and snort, I stick my finger in his eye, poking him lightly but causing him to whine. "OW! My eye, man!" I open another beer and point to the TV, warning him not to interrupt me again.

Eric creeps down the stairs, still in pajamas, and asks if I've been in front of the tube all night. I chose to answer by motioning to the pyramid of beer cans I have created, revealing the more interesting part of last nights activities, though I concede I may have fallen asleep after Carson. Kelso chuckles, looking up at me with the same tender trust that is forever his downfall, and I pat his cheek softly, urging him to get his head the hell off my lap before I snap in a hair-trigger wave of psychotic violence. He springs from my grasp and announces that he didn't come here just to be abused. "You see before you a changed man!" Kelso does a slow spin for us, beaming with such pride that I almost don't have the heart to make fun of him. Almost.

"So, is this a Renee Richards kind of thing or is that just a clean shirt?"

My idiot beloved bestows a high-five upon me, in recognition of the biting wit that would reduce a more intelligent victim to tears. Kelso grins stupidly, in what I can only assume is blissful misunderstanding and tosses his backpack in my lap.

"OK, so I went to the library to get some books to help me out with my ... situation, let's just say. And you remember Brooke the brain, the chick I nailed at the Molly Hatchet concert? She works there. I banged a librarian! Oh, and I just got that Renee Richards comment and it hurt my feelings."

He tosses himself down next to me on the couch and my voice drips with sarcastic wonder as I inspect the contents of his bag. "Wow, Kelso, books from a library. This is awesome." I throw them aside, uninterested, and allow him to explain.

"Hyde, these books are an important part of my training as a Buddhist monk, which my mom still won't let me go to Kentucky for, by the way. Irving and Josh are living in the apartment with Fez and me until I can swing the move. See, I got basic Japanese, a book about reincarnation, basic meditation techniques, and a guide to booby traps. For the past two weeks Irving has been teaching me kung fu moves, you know, like Kwai Chang Caine does. He says I really suck at it, too. All this stuff is going to come in handy when I have to face Jigoku." He graces me with a sly wink that tells me Jigoku is really Godzilla, his handlers just don't permit him to say so.

"Groovy." I pick up the book on reincarnation and flip through the contents, embarrassed to admit I'm curious about the subject to which I've dedicated so much private thought since the incident at Leo's. I've had several dreams about Eric and I in another life and I don't know that I believe any of it, but it's interesting and a little disturbing. The last time I tried to talk to Eric about it, he pointed out that my dream girl with raven hair and a mini-skirt was actually a representation of Jackie in her cheerleader uniform. Then he elbowed me in the stomach and told me to go fuck myself, so now I try not to bring it up.

Kelso appears relieved when Forman heads upstairs for a shower, as he's decided he and I need to have a _private man talk_.

"Don't say anything to Eric, but I know he made up the whole Godzilla thing. I mean, I understand that Godzilla isn't _real_ real, but that he's in Heaven with all the other dinosaurs. And if he was mad at me for something I did in a previous life, I think he'd attack on a psychic level and not a physical one, which is disappointing because I had this great plan to tie him up with duct tape and feed him Twinkies until I gained his trust so we could hash out whatever _relationship issues_ have him so worked up."

"You mentioned firecrackers in this plan before?"

"Well," he says with a fond smile, "after we made up we were going to set them off together." I stare at him for a long time, tickled but too tired to laugh. "That's not the only reason I wanted to talk to you alone, though, Hyde. Ever since Josh and Irving started working with me on meditation, I've had a lot of visions like the one you had at Leo's house. Sometimes it's you and the girl in the green skirt and we're both trying to see her underwear, but sometimes it's you and another woman. I don't know who she is, but she's cold and strong ... and she looms over us all, watching everything we do."

"There was a second woman in my dream. I thought she was going to kill us, but she helped us somehow. She protected Eric - I can't remember. I don't remember most of it, not anymore, just fragments and feelings."

"It wasn't a dream, Hyde, it was a vision of a past life. OH! You should totally come over to the apartment and meditate with us, man! Like a double date; you could communicate with Eric-chick and I could work on the other lady."

Though I admire Michael Kelso's attempt to get laid from beyond the grave, I can't believe I'm even listening to this. "I've got an even better idea. Eric is going to meet with his study group for a few hours, so hand me another six-pack and I'll drink it while I make fun of you."

"Hyde, we do that all the time. It's like ever since you and Forman decided to be ass pirates, you guys got boring."

OUCH, I never saw that coming. I tell him to go home and he stands, huffing with his usual dramatic flair. "Fine. Fez and Franklin and I watch _BJ and The Bear_ on Saturday nights anyway. We have this drinking game where you do a shot every time Sheriff Lobo is a dick. It's getting kind of expensive."

I lean into the sofa and sigh, rolling my eyes at the disappointment of it all. While Fez and Kelso are parked in front of their TV with a bowl of popcorn and a bottle of strawberry schnapps, I'll be counting the minutes until Eric comes home from learning psychology so that we can be ass-pirates together. I seriously need to get a life that doesn't involve this basement. But more importantly, I shouldn't be spending my only weekend off this month pouting alone when I could be upstairs raiding the refrigerator.

Before I top the stairs, I pause at the sound of strange voices. Cracking the door slightly to eavesdrop, I notice Red sitting at the table with a man and a woman who I've never seen. Both are well dressed and a little imposing, the young lady formal and impeccably polished, the gentleman kind looking and round. I can't make out their words, but the lady notices me and, once nailed in her sights, demands that I join them. Red stands, pointing stiffly to the chair he'd just occupied, and I sit per his unspoken command, knowing well that speechless is beyond pissed.

He places a hand on each shoulder and presses me down firmly, making it clear that I'm not to wiggle or blink. Our guests have badges stating that they are police officers from Kenosha. I promise that whatever it is, I didn't do it, but offer them a comprehensive list of everything Michael Kelso has done wrong since kindergarten, including the time he accidentally tied his own shoelaces together and fell down the stairs, landing atop the principal, or when he taped construction paper wings to his neighbors St. Bernard and tried to make it fly. I offer alternatives - distractions meant to divert them from the purpose of their visit, such as my certainty that Fez is Russian spy pretending to be a Venezuelan weirdo.

The lady cop attempts to look severe, but her voice betrays her when she tells me I'm not in any trouble at all. Her partner, a soft spoken, much older black man with graying curls, attempts the casual approach with the friendly smile and the _I'm there for you_ psychological crap. "We're concerned you may have been the victim of a crime, Steven."

He lay mug shot pictures on the table before me and I recognize three hookers, Polish ones at that, though he didn't specify and I sure as hell didn't volunteer. Seems the gal who was arrested with my wallet, AND her husband - AND her two best friends, who happen to be sisters - AND her best friend's boyfriend who happens to also be her brother in law - are suspects in the disappearance of a seventeen year old girl.

I'm told their contemptible gang indulges in the nasty habit of seducing young girls - and boys - by means of illegal sedation. But they don't keep their sick proclivities all in the family, Kenosha PD believes they've ties to the Bertrand Brothers - a band of criminal masterminds from Ontario, Canada.

In all fairness, it's not difficult for one to be involved with the brothers, though. Leo went to university with Lucas and baby Barry screws his one of his mistresses at least three nights a week in the hotel room next to mine and Eric's. They own several businesses in both Wisconsin and Michigan and are rumored to have a hand in prostitution, dishonest lending and even chop-shops, if my old high school automotives teacher can be trusted.

On one of our many high school beer runs to Canada, we learned that the brothers are well respected, home town heroes of sorts. Their parents were working poor and the boys, once old enough, helped their father build up a corner grocery. It's said that the eldest son, Jack, while only twelve, began to sell narcotic drugs to his fathers' customers, quite discreetly of course, with the help of his girlfriend's uncle, a licensed pharmacist. As their wealth began to accrue, Jack and his trusted lieutenants, his fraternal twin brothers Alexandre and Gabriel, decided to diversify their investments. Their school friends became both prostitutes and clients and their first brothel rose from an abandoned warehouse in the old textile district.

By the age of seventeen, it is said that young Jack could buy and sell the city several times over, should he chose. By nineteen, the folks in his periphery began to die mysteriously and at an alarming rate, including but not limited to his girlfriend, her pharmacist uncle and the neighbor's collie dog. Leo maintains the pharmacist committed suicide because law enforcement was imminent, and his niece did not die, but moved as far away as possible for reasons unknown. As for the dog, Leo told me he suspected the worst. The animal was elderly and arthritic, but pretty damn loud, howling night and day with doggie Alzheimers and s topping only when petted vigorously. Did Jack and his brothers really have a hand in such unbelievable cruelty? No one really knows for sure, or seemed to care enough to risk the discovery. Leo said the boys didn't mind the doubtful whispers because it cemented their reputation as unimaginable bastards in the first degree.

After the passing of their dear father Pascal Bertrand, the boys took things up a notch by breaking into South American imports. Back in those days, there was a sixth brother, Etienne, and he set the family up with connections throughout the known universe before he was killed by police in a sting operation. After that, the brothers laid low on the drug thing, or so it's said that Jack forbid such risky and violent activity, refusing to lose another brother. Of course, they burned down the police station in retaliation first.

They were quiet long enough that some hoped they had faded to black, disbanded, or maybe been edged out by another organization, but the Bertrands' had an advantage the other syndicates did not - the fact that they are true blood family. Jack and the twins had changed their younger brothers' diapers and held them when they were teething. Being twins, Gabriel and Alexandre were closer to each other than any two people could or should be and were addressed with names hyphenated, as if they were a single entity. When not knee-walking drunk and beating each other unconscious, they were said to be incorrigible pranksters as well as shrewd businessmen.

With Etienne dead and Barry an effeminate pansy who faints at the site of blood and becomes nervous with the raising of voices, Lucas was left to deal with rational decision making and public relations. Leo always spoke of him as such a fun guy, a real jack off, but lacking his older brothers' hard edges. He's the one I had flirted with approaching; the one who seemed somehow less threatening, probably due to his long association with Leo. I have to wonder if I reach out to him now, would it be too late?

The detectives don't buy my innocent wide-eyed act for a moment. Though I swear up and down that I've never seen these people before and that no one has ever laid a hand on me, I freeze at the sickened fury in Red's expression. We spend tense moments avoiding direct eye contact, then progress to daring one another to speak the inevitables - the words that will spark our shocked and hurt disbelief into the unquenchable flames of a selfish anger that is near impossible to disobey. As if Red Forman could ever blame or hate me more than I do myself. He could never inflict a punishment worse than forcing me to live with the knowledge that I allowed the only person I'll ever truly love- the one who knows the location of every scar on my body and my heart- to be harmed.

Dressed in warm flannels and burdened by his badly overstuffed, but much coveted and highly collectible Darth Vader book bag, my idiot beloved breezes through the door, pausing in confusion. He's quick to notice the mug shots I failed to identify and, face excited in recognition, declares them to be the bitches who picked us up at the roadhouse. "They stole our money and all our clothes and Fez had to pick us up in Kenosha and I threw up for a week!"

The officers scribble furiously into their little notepads, impressed as I am with how much information Eric can fit in a single sentence. Eric is so matter of fact and unashamed, seemingly so excited to recount every detail of the foggy evening he spent barely conscious while a crew of perverts felt us up and G-d only knows what else. My pleas for his silence remain unspoken, the hard look in my eyes not enough to quiet him and before I realize what I'm doing I spring from my chair and scream, "JUST FUCKING QUIT TALKING, FORMAN!"

Everyone stills, shocked and surprised by the "sudden" outburst that no one has a clue was a long time coming. When I heard my voice just now, it was my mother's voice; it was the abusive voice of every boyfriend she ever drug home and the cruel voice of her parents, as I remember them. I flush with humiliation at the horrible words that are responsible for Eric's hurt little face, so stunned and vulnerable. His lips begin to quiver slowly, then his fists ball in anger and he shouts, "I better NOT be the Forman to whom you are referring, or I might just have to WIPE THE FLOOR WITH YOUR ASS!."

Kitty holds her arms out between us like a referee and with a frantic shriek explains that she has just mopped the kitchen floor. Red almost smiles at that, as do the detectives who are patiently waiting for Eric to make a fucking oil painting of the nights' events, in case it's needed for evidence in court.

I hold up one of the mug shot pictures for Eric and compare the girl in it to any number of ladies we've met this last year. Thin body, average height, sandy hair and light eyes. She's really no different from any girl we've seen at the Hub, the bar, the movie theatre or school. "The only thing in the world special about this girl, Eric," I say slowly, "is that she appears to work for or otherwise be involved with the Bertrand brothers. Do we know anyone who would knowingly associate with any of the Bertrands?"

When he takes the picture from my hand, I think I've finally reached him. He understands how common and unspecial these strange girls are to us and how none of our friends are acquaintances with anyone who would burn down an entire police station for revenge. Imagine what vicious people like that would do if they were to feel threatened in any way by some otherwise innocent teenage boy.

He tosses the picture to the table with the others and admits that I have a point. I know he's really imagining what could happen to his parents or maybe his sister or me, but is not willing to ignore the issue because of that missing girl. He swollows hard and tells me he's sorry that he can't lie about something so important as this, not even for me.

In sickening slow motion, the web of denial I had so carefully constructed unravels by the slender thread from which my sanity is precariously suspended and there is no action I can take to prevent it. While the entire eastern hemisphere prays to be spared, I silently plead for Skylab to land directly on me.

:)

To be continued

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) I Do It with My Fez On by Steely Dan

:)

Authors Notes:  
:) Renee Richards was a male tennis player who made waves by becoming a female tennis player.  
:) A Fez is that hat Mr. C on Happy Days used to wear to the Leopard Lodge.  
:) Skylab was a space station that began falling apart. In the summer of '79 it began to rain debris upon the earth, resulting in world wide prayer vigils and popular signs, often homemade, that begged, "SKYLAB LAND HERE."


	20. The Hotel California

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
by Jennifer Ryan  
06/22/08

:)

**Some dance to remember**

A week ago the Kenosha P.D. appeared on our doorstep and reigned hell not only on my first free weekend in forever, but on my entire life. These last several months, Hyde has been an unhappy handful; I'm not so deluded a fool I'd deny that. Red, mom, Donna, all my teachers and even Kelso have noticed he's not right or that at least he's not right for Hyde. My increasingly frustrating inability to cope with his mood swings led me to seek help from my academic adviser and my psychology professor, Drs. Jackson DeWitt and Jonathan Newberry, respectively.

I went to school that afternoon to turn in my psychology paper, which is really just fancy code for meeting with the professors. Dr. Newberry is my abnormal psychology instructor and we confer every Friday to discuss my case study, which is further fancy code for the free therapy I receive under the guise of a friendly chat.

We talk about my insane boyfriend in the most clinical and theoretical fashion possible, then my anthropology professor, Dr. DeWitt, joins us for a spot of tea. Dr. DeWitt is a Brit, the only in all of Wisconsin, and likes to expose the staff to culture by making them drink Earl Grey and eat weird cookies that taste like baking soda. He's practically adopted Professor Newberry and seems to harbor ideas about molding him into someone with whom he can talk about old people stuff.

Anyway, that afternoon Dr. Newberry pushed me hard, attempting to mine information with which he's sure I've not yet come to grips. He says I'm avoiding an unpleasant reality, pretending my relationship with Hyde is right on and together when in fact it is slowly falling unglued.

He baited me at every turn, demanded to know what I was so afraid of and told me to start acting like a responsible adult. He forced me to be brutally honest for the first time in months and admit that Hyde can't eat a pizza or watch TV without drinking. We don't go out together unless he has a beer in his hand, he doesn't talk to me without grabbing one and whenever we pass Western Avenue, he stops in front of the A & P for a six pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon. It was an eye opening slap in the face that I'd tried to gloss over, because nine times out of ten, who put the beer in his hand and who passed him the roach clip.

I tried to explain that Hyde has had a hard life, that his mother was an abusive addict and that her boyfriends used to hit him or yell at him or lock him out of the house or any number of crappy, hurtful things. Then he put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed, looked into my eyes like he cared and told me that has nothing to do with why Hyde can't even come to bed with me sober. He warned me that if I continued to assist Hyde in being the best alcoholic he can be, I'll be helping him kill himself and that if I refuse to acknowledge the problem, we will both be lost.

I stood and left then, and as I walked out the door I heard Dr. DeWitt reprimand young Jonathan for being so harsh. I didn't stick around to hear his defense, because I was anxious to jump in my car and beat my head against the steering wheel. I wanted to smack the hell out of myself and then run home and smack the hell out of Steven Gregory. Instead I went home to find the veins and arteries in my dad's head swollen to near epic proportions and Hyde counting floor tiles while police officers showed me mug shots.

Red was light years beyond pissed, Mom exhibited nervous tremors and Hyde sat in a hard backed kitchen chair with arms crossed defensively, appearing both expressionless and unseeing. What could I do but spill the dirty secret that has eaten at him for the better part of a year.

I could have attempted to lie, though I'm sure it would have been little more than an abysmal failure. Had they not informed me some teenage girl was missing, I might have given it a shot. How was I to know she wasn't kidnapped or murdered, but on her honeymoon in Toronto with world class dickweed Lucas Bertrand, as the police would soon discover.

I told them every detail I could recall, each word a relief that fell from me like a lead weight. This was my big chance - or so I thought - to have the situation resolved, out and done with, behind us and forgotten forever. Fat chance.

The more I said, the angrier Hyde became and once he finally snapped, so did I. People might think I'm a pussy and that they can slap me around without a fight, but I can damn well give as good as get, especially after an entire afternoon of being told I'm enabling an alcoholic.

Red yelled at Hyde and me all night long; his temper not so much a force of nature as an unnatural disaster. To compare my father to Three Mile Island would be unfair, as the power generating station suffered only a partial meltdown and "Reginald the Terrible" would never condescend to do anything half way.

He was actually talking to himself through most of it, making constant mental notes about stupid damn kids, stupid damn hormones, that G-d damn bar we're never to go near again and the fact that he kept his boxer shorts firmly in place for two different wars. Hyde's comment about how easy it must have been to do so on a boat full of men wasn't allowed to slide - Dad pointed out that heterosexuality just comes naturally to some. Before Hyde could mount a respectable defense, Red veered off on a tangent about Laurie getting pregnant.

When I tried to egg him on, he immediately snapped back to reality and told us not to change the damn subject. He told me this was the last straw, stormed into the bedroom Hyde and I share and began dumping Steven Gregory's clothes into a duffel bag. Mom played defense, countering his every move and carefully returning each stitch to the dresser while complaining that wrinkling freshly laundered clothes only makes a bad situation worse. When Red pulled open the final drawer, a baggie of pre-rolled joints I'd taped to its bottom tumbled to the floor. Hyde and I stared down at it for what seemed like an eternity, both overflowing with the urge to deny ownership. Red was more disappointed than surprised, I think, and told Hyde to take his G-d damn drugs with him on his way out.

Hyde showed as little emotion as possible until he was pulling out of the driveway and realized that he'd forgotten to throw me into his bag. We drove around the corner and parked the El Camino in front of old Mrs. Surridge's place, then snuk back to the basement to figure shit out. That's when things went from worse to unbearable.

The first thing he did when we got there was grab a beer and sit in his favorite chair in front of the TV. When I reached out to take it away from him, he pulled back, claiming he needed it to help him think through the heavy shit and that he's pretty sure it gives him super powers. I told him that was a lame excuse, so he offered me a romantic circle for two in its place.

I begged him to talk to me. He got defensive.  
I asked him why he drinks every day. He explained he doesn't.  
I promised that I love him. He claimed he doubted it.  
I told him to go spend the night at Leo's house until my dad cooled off. He said I'm gone.

Then he grabbed a case of beer and a pair of sleep pants from the back storage and he was. He didn't return and when I called Leo's house the next day, one of them faked a Chinese accent badly before hanging up the phone. Now not only is my boyfriend a drunk, he's probably honing his craft in some titty bar.

Instead of calling every hospital in the tri-county area, I invited Donna over for a circle of our own. No matter our differences, Donna has always helped me put things in perspective, and right now I am in desperate need of a single reason to put up with anymore of Hyde's self centered behavior. The fact that I love his inebriated ass may not be enough anymore.

:)

**Some dance to forget**

The path to hell is a slow wound spiral cloaked tightly in the shadow of darkest night. Sadly, few of us have what it takes to avoid landing here - or once ensnared - the ability to understand why.

Oddly enough, my personal hell is a room at the Hotel California, or as the locals call it, The Holiday Hotel. On Wednesday evenings after my shift, Eric and I meet in room 307 to screw each other retarded, but he doesn't love me anymore, so I smoke weed with Roy and Jesse instead. The legend of room 307 extends far beyond the idiot teenage cousins who shot each other over a heroin stash back in '71. Some say others have fallen here, died or gone quite insane for one mysterious reason or another, as if anything so interesting could ever happen this close to Pointless Place.

A few years back an elderly guest died a few rooms down - slipped away quietly in the night - but over the years the story transformed, becoming urban legend. The elderly woman became a beautiful maiden who leapt to her death after losing her true love to another after a Simon and Garfunkle concert. Her unhappy spirit haunts this very room, never to have a moments peace, mainly because room 307 is shared among the employees and their rowdy fuck buddies slash partners in crime.

And tonight our partners in crime are the ladies from housekeeping. Our impromptu gathering progresses quickly into a raucous bash when passersby stream in, merging with our six, multiplying to twenty and before we know it there are too many half naked drunks to count.

I don't know how many bottles of beer I downed before I had to lose my flannel shirt and - for some reason - my right shoe, but it must have been considerable. I'd lose the damn t-shirt, too, was it not the one Eric and Kelso got me from the Molly Hatchet concert. I pull it up to fan myself, an act which leads a strange girl to pinch my nipple and stick her tongue in my ear. I only kissed her back for a minute before I had to take a seat in the middle of the floor, feeling friendly, fearless, hilariously uncoordinated and on the brink of nausea.

My sudden disappearance seems to confuse the girl and she stumbles off in search of the next big adventure, leaving me dusted in potato chip crumbs and marinating in Schlitz.

Though my vision is blurry and my surroundings crowded, I focus on the hearth where my Eric and I used to play with each other. It was the first time either of us purposely touched another guys kelbosa, so we christened it our special place - a shrine to our hilarious youthful ineptitudes and lighthearted perversions. I've fond memories of the first time I deep throated him, how he gasped in shock as I took him, then wiggled silently beneath me as if afraid to make a wrong sound.

We were embarrassingly awkward that time and I was not near as experienced as I pretended to be, or even fast enough to save myself from his accidentally releasing in my hair. I hadn't the heart to relish the look of terror that settled over him, kissing him softly instead, as a gentle reminder that I'm not Donna. She would have kicked his ass. We showered together, laughing wildly, and then Eric feigned the hiccups for the rest of the evening, half-heartedly apologizing that he couldn't pay me back. I remember his proud, sneaky smile as he fell asleep curled beside me, sure he'd gotten away with something big. The stupid look on his face the next morning when I reminded him that I was still waiting was equally priceless.

I showed Eric how much I loved him in front of this fireplace. I showed him on the bed, against the corner desk, on the balcony and in the shower and now I'm surrounded by reminders that it wasn't meant to be. Before I can protest, a drunken Roy and Dave appear before me and attempt to cheer me by pissing out the flames, leaving in their wake the sad ember and ash of a dying fire. Depressing.

The thing is, Forman never once said, _"quit drinking or I'll leave you."_ I fully expected it, was waiting for it, dreading it and almost wishing for it at the same time. I realize he shouldn't have had to, but I took this as a sign that everything was going to be all right. I didn't know he was so worried that a good portion of his time was spent silently seething as he poured over his psychology texts, looking for some way to rescue me from my own worst enemy - myself.

Unable to transform my heart and mind with subtle manipulations, he enlisted his eight hundred year old anthropology teacher and academic adviser, Professor DeWitt. At first I was worried the man was queer, but to my great relief Donna assured me he was not gay but British, and very happily married with twelve grandchildren.

This much older man had become a good friend to Eric over the last several months and a mentor, I suppose. Many hours were spent in deep conversation about culture, mental illness, addiction and - as I later found - me. I should be grateful he had someone to turn to, a sympathetic ear on which to chew, because he could never confide in Red without being judged or ridiculed, and the mans answer to every situation involves body parts jammed inside other body parts; hardly a reliable or useful solution to any problem.

Jessica's voice looms over me, badly distorted in its tone and tumbles from her mouth in strange slow motion. "This is my cousin, Alice."

Alice isn't so cute as Jessie, but is short as a pygmy and thin as a rail as she. Something I can't identify seems uncomfortably familiar and almost fake, compelling me to reach forward and touch her to be sure she is real. I restrain myself, convinced I miss Eric so badly that I look for him everywhere. Alice's eyes are large and round like his, but not so happy or as wide and trusting. Eric's eyes rindle with the soft beauty and sweet mischief of one thousand harebrained schemes yet to be formed. Hers are eyes that seek out trouble with an eagerness that is not far from unhinged and it's obvious she's the kind of friend who would push you out of a window just to see how hard you'd fall or if you'd cry. Her hair boasts hues of red and is as straight as sticks of straw, but unlike Eric's cinnamon and honey toned threads of fine silk, hers is brassy, greasy and unkempt. I've suddenly no desire to lay my hands on it or any part of her body and I can't believe I put my tongue in her mouth a few minutes ago. I'd swear something in the beer is making everyone crazy, were I not unbalanced already.

"Are you Steven? Oh, wow, I know you. We almost had sex a few minutes ago." She and Jessie reach down to help me stand and I'm able, though unsteady, as her voice cuts through the room like a foghorn. "I'm so mind blown right now, man. Is this your first trip?"

I try to blink the glaze from my eyes as she bounces excitedly and announces to anyone within hearing range that I am a virgin. I laugh at that or try to, but Jessica frowns with concern, demanding to know what's wrong.

"Eric called me a dumb ass." Her jaw dropping shock tickles and incites me, and I rejoice that FINALLY someone sees things from my point of view. I nod my head, anxious to state my case to the world. "He called me an alcoholic. ME. He said I'm a selfish fucking drunk just like my mother!"

"Holy shit! For real?"

"Well ... maybe not in so many words, but that's what he meant." I know damn well what Eric was telling me. He likes to wrap harsh sentiments within the folds of gentle words, translation: mind fuck. I can't believe the bulk of my paychecks go toward sending him to school so he can earn a degree in mind fucking to use against me. _I love you, Hyde. Blah blah blah ... WAM! But I won't lie; not even for you._

I understand all too well he's saying sorry that I'm not worth it. And it's time for me to face the unfortunate fact that while my fair Eric is moving up in the world, I am most definitely moving down. I should have seen the writing on the wall when he started having _tea and biscuits_ with Dr. DeWitt. The two of them probably wear monocles and top hats and make fun of me in a British accent.

Alice gestures for me to boost her up, so I help her atop the table without getting too friendly. She wobbles and laughs as she calls for the rooms attention while Jessica puts an LP on the turntable. "Every one lucky enough to be drinking a bottled Schlitz can come to the middle of the floor, because you've got the button!" Six strangers, including Jesse, surround me, stomping and clapping to the rhythm of Eric Clapton and I suddenly realize that I've got the button. My entire body flushes in alarm, because I know exactly what that means. Everyone sings except me.

_If you wanna hang out, you've got to take her out. Cocaine._

Jessica slides her arm around my waist, oblivious to my worry and smiles up at me with the same old shy, misplaced affection that used to drive Eric nuts. I ask if there is cocaine in my beer bottle and she snorts, telling me to relax, because cocaine doesn't dissolve in liquid. My relief is short-lived when she announces the button is LSD. The girls slow dance with me as the crowd sings in unison, _If you wanna get down, down on the ground. Cocaine._

I feel the frown pulling heavily at my face, but no one seems to notice or care. Time passes immeasurable, because the world and everything in it spins in slow motion and I can feel it, taste it and smell it and I wonder, how is it possible for people to live out their entire existences never understanding all this?

Every question that has ever been is now answered somehow; there are so many things I _just know_ without understanding why. My surroundings have been transformed as if by magic and my mind is so fucking far beyond blown I can't articulate it. Last night this room was nothing special - just somewhere to take a smoke break and hang out a while. But tonight it's as if I've stepped into an alternate dimension with sounds I can touch and colors I can taste and feel.

"It's going to be all right, Steven. Alice and I will babysit you. Don't be scared of the trip, man, just ride it." Jessica pushes me backwards and I fall onto the sofa, straddled by Alice whose syrupy voice promises to take care of me good. Her touch makes me cringe, sickens me to the singed and calloused edges of my soul, but my body is numbed far beyond the command of my mind. How I could ever compare this monster to my idiotic beloved is a testament to the depth of my insanity.

I always swore I'd never be one of those spineless imbeciles who allows a woman to tune him in to hardcore shit for the novelty of it. It's not just that I hate feeling so pathetic and weak, but it's the kind of horrible thing my mother would do to someone.

When Bud was too drunk to hold his glass steady, Edna was always there to pour him the next shot. The same mother who couldn't fix me a bowl of stove top macaroni and cheese had no problem hacking into pound after pound of kerosene soaked coca leaves with a weed shredder to help her piece of shit boyfriend, Earl, make cocaine powder. Hell, they even let Bud join in, if he could stand up straight. At so young an age it struck me as sadly hilarious and utterly terrifying that Bud - and every other man she met - was her willing victim, her witless and eager prey.

My mother is and was an unrelenting predator, the seemingly souless guardian of all the sin and desperation that is eternal night. She plowed through other people with a sickening ease and every unfortunate being who crossed her was slowly and painfully drawn into the unforgiving void of poisoned darkness that was her greatest achievement as well as her inescapable prison.

I have embellished her crimes in no way, if anything I am too forgiving when I tell you the black magic that was Edna's specialty set a gold standard to be aspired to by all dark creatures. Her victims found little hope of rescue and no reason to expect mercy. And now, neither will mine.

I will take her place in the world, sucking the life and sanity from those around me and draining them of the ability to trust or love me. Behavior my loved ones used to find paranoid yet charming will continue to evolve into the fatalistic self-destruction that is as unattractive a trait as it is a pathetic one.

And though I love and hate my mother with everything I am, I tremble with the knowledge that when the flame of her life is extinguished, the memory of her will never be. Edna haunts and drives me, though I've lived every day determined to prove that she doesn't. I couldn't save her no matter how much I wanted to or how hard I tried and I only just survived her by moving through my life as a shadow, heart encased in ice to render it unbreakable. And even now my unhappiness knows no end because my pain hasn't washed away with time, only my hope has.

Alice continues to rub and wiggle in a desperate attempt to fuck me through my jeans, but I hardly notice, because now I want to die. It's the right thing to do. I've no idea how to salvage the wreckage my existence has become, but I can still protect Eric from the me who is slowly emerging. I struggle to reason that not even death can erase the bitterness I would leave behind. Instead of providing an escape from the never ending emptiness and isolation that torment me, I somehow know that I will earn neither silence nor sleep. There is not enough grass or dirt in the world to bury me and all my troubles in the earth and I will never, ever be alone enough.

The chilling vibration of thunder rocks the room, as unexpected as it is electrifying and the bitter bite of cold chains envelops me; chains of my own sick design, tying me to this unending hell. I roll from the sofa, dumping Alice into the lap of her madly giggling cousin and am nearly felled by a pizza box as I hobble to the balcony. The swirl of too cool winds rustling leaves lulls me forward and into the distant crack of electric light.

I climb the iron railing, so anxious to become one with the early spring storm that I don't notice I have company. Franklin stands on his hind legs and whines miserably, as if trying to talk sense into me. I smile, flattered he would join me here of all places, and he seems to smile back, panting with his tongue lolling from the side of his muzzle.

I reach down to pat his head, but he intercepts my hand, holding it so firmly between his teeth that I can't pry it away. Franklin pulls me from the ledge and I stumble to the ground, landing too hard on my knees and one free Hand. Before I can yell at him for invading my space, he begins to growl viciously, reminding me that he is a cop dog down to his doughnut eating core.

I lean back on the railing and softly promise him that he's a good doggie, which appears to quell his anger, and a quiet staring contest ensues. I move to stand slowly, causing him to growl and snap until I relent. Then he lay his head in my lap, blocking any possible route of escape. Since it seems I'm trapped here indefinitely, I pat myself down in search of cigarettes and smoke the one and only I have left, softly singing to myself _"... you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave." _

I don't know how long I stare into the sky, lost in my own mind and heart broken that a creature as wonderful as a star can only shine brightly in the darkest of night, its beauty unseen for most of its life. The pouring rain slows to a drizzle and falls in large cold drops that I pray will wash away the memory of my failures and all my anger, too. A short while ago I felt like I could reach G-d, but the moment was fleeting and now I'm emptier than ever before, like something hollowed out my soul.

A bolt of lightening strikes nearby and Franklin jumps to attention, ready to guard me, but I'm drawn to the ledge where I examine the ground for scorch marks. A large burnt patch of earth is plainly visible and beckons me as if X marks the spot. I could end it all quickly, make good and damn sure I forget and am forgotten. The saturated ground would be pliant beneath me, swallowing both my shell and my soul and allowing me to revert to the free and unfeeling dust I was meant to be. I breathe a sigh of relief at the thought of my swan song, convinced that eternal isolation might be just as close to peace as I will ever have.

With the hateful and liberating sting of alcohol on my breath and in my blood, I feel invincible and only the sorry fact that I'm out of my mind insulates me. Before I can lose my nerve, I fling myself from the third floor balcony, blacking out before I hit the ground.

:)

To be continued ...

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) Cocaine by Eric Clapton  
:) Hotel California by The Eagles


	21. A Whiter Shade of Pale

:)

Beautiful Music  
THAT 70's SHOW  
by Jennifer Ryan  
04/20/2013

:)

**Everything I Own**

I couldn't find a parking space so I abandoned my car on the street, door open and engine still running. The woman behind the desk tried to stop me from entering the exam room. In retrospect, I wish she had succeeded, because for every day of the rest of my life I'll be haunted by the memory of Dr. Sander's stern and gravely voice telling his nurse the situation was hopeless from the start. His skull was fractured, his leg broken and several ribs smashed. I came here with hope in my heart, promising myself it would be all right because it just had to be. Never did I envision waking early on a Thursday morning to be told that my best friend is dead.

I failed to stifle the strangling noises that rose involuntary from my throat, alarming the nurse and alerting Dr. Sanders to my presence. He put his hand on my shoulder and tried to comfort me, but I shook my head hard from side to side so his words couldn't reach my brain. I didn't want to hear any more. He guided me backwards and pushed me down into a chair, telling the nurse to call my mother while he rubbed circles on my back and compounded my heartbreak with meaningless reassurances. He knelt before me and, holding my trembling hands in his own, promised me that G-d has a plan for Franklin.

"G-d planned for Franklin to die?"

"He planned for Franklin to save your friend's life."

"Hyde's not my friend anymore!" I spring from the chair, standing over Franklin's lifeless body and wishing I could have been there to hold him those last minutes. I wanted for the love in my eyes to be the last thing he saw, so he'd still remember me by the time he reached Heaven. Dr. Sanders excuses himself from the room and I gather my best friend's sheet wrapped body in my arms and cradle him in the way I never could when he was alive. His muscles are limp and lax and as I adjust my hold, I can feel the ribs that once protected his lungs and heart shift unnaturally. My composure dissolves when I think that his heart is as broken as mine.

"You always have to be stubborn and rush into situations you can't control, Franklin. You're like one of those renegade cops who gets all of his partners killed." I pace the length of the room while clutching him to my chest, in case he feels cold, and warn that he'll need to be more careful in the future, because he has me at home waiting for him. But no, there is no future. I'll travel the rest of this life a widower, alone and never fully managing to connect the mangled pieces of my soul with another living creature.

Josh and Irving have been teaching me about destiny - or what I was taught to call G-d's plan - and that once the wheels of fate are in motion, they are an unstoppable force. This was Franklin's destiny? I can't believe his fate was to meet his end without me.

I'd so many plans for the both of us, like our first house, a funky little bungalow where we would be content. And children, of course. I figured we'd start families around the same time and that we'd help raise each others kids; that they would grow up together. One day we'd be old and gray, sharing pills for our arthritis and making fun of each other for not being able to get off the couch and then suddenly, as if by magic, we'd be in Heaven together.

Always together in my dreams, but now I'm alone. Finally I understand all my dad's harping about drinking and drugs. All the hard assed and reasonless rules I thought were invented to torment and keep me from having fun were for a reason. He said you'll kill yourself or somebody else and secretly I laughed at his naive love of the dramatic.

He was right.

I laughed at Hyde when he was drunk and a lot of the time I helped him get that way. We smoked pot together more times than I can count and most of them were my idea. The more messed up his head got, the harder I laughed at him, just as he did me. And now my sweet Franklin is dead forever. I never killed anyone's dog - would never dream of such a cruel and evil thing. But Hyde's always had a fucking mean streak.

I continue pacing the length of the exam room, singing softly though Franklin can't hear me. _... I would give up my life, my heart, my home ... just to have you back again._

"Michael, honey. Your mama's outside." Nurse Shelley directs me to lay Franklin's body back on the exam table, promising that she and Dr. Sanders will take care of everything, but I turn away, holding him tightly and close to my heart.

I hold my head high and announce that Franklin was Buddhist. My people will arrange for everything.

**Shore Leave (a.k.a last night)**

I wake slowly, with a splitting headache and to the annoying yet unnervingly far away sound of what may be a pipe organ. It a cloying, unhappy sound. A painfully slow and depressing one and my first thought is that I must have arrived in time for my own funeral. But I'm not surrounded by a tacky powder blue satin lined box that is standard of such occasions, just cheap tartan plaid flannel sheets that smell like sweat, stale beer and tobacco smoke.

The sounds of a party still going strong won't permit me to sleep or even linger in self-imposed twilight. Before I can garner the motivation to push myself from the bed, the door swings open and a couple of horney morons land in my lap. I flail and swing in aggravation, stopped short by the blood curdling scream of a plump, topless blonde. Her bra hangs from one shoulder, the other side clutched in her suitors fist as they both jump away from me as if I've burned them on the ass.

I ignore his clumsy apology and her hitch-pitched shrieking, slowly dragging myself into the main room in search of better company. The party goers who remain line the room in a loose circle, passing a bong while happily singing and clapping in rhythm with the music.

_... turned cartwheels across the floor  
... I was feeling kinda sea sick  
... the crowd called out for more_

I scan the sea of faces, hoping to find Roy or Jesse, or really just any friendly smile to help me limp out to my car and sleep off this hangover. Instead I find Jackie sitting on the floor, her tiny body curled in between the sofa and a row of folding chairs. I don't recognize the women with whom she's chatting, but when the bong is passed to her, she's the only one who doesn't partake. Not only does she pass off her share, she does so as if a bit disgusted, then returns her attention to a young lady who is both frumpy and unstylish - typically someone she'd not only ignore, but ridicule. Instead she's smiling and it's so easy and genuine that I find it incredible. She gives the woman a quick peck on the cheek and as her friend rises to leave, Jackie grabs her hand and squeezes the way ladies do as if to say _I'll miss you forever and ever and ever._

Then Jackie looks past me as if she has no idea who I am, but really I'm the one who should be shocked. Though it's been awhile, I can't believe the transformation evident as she stands. Every inch of her body is hard muscle, hugged by dark jeans and a tee shirt, two items of clothing I had no idea she owned. She sports the posture and confidence of a soldier, suddenly reminding me of Red Forman. Grabbing a brown leather jacket from behind her, she walks past me and I reach out to take her arm as she does, calling her name, which appears to puzzle her.

"Who's Jackie? I'm Patricia."

Undaunted, I ask what she's doing here this weekend and she blushes deeply. "I'm home on shore leave," she laughs, "though in truth my home is at sea."

"Shore leave? You're a mermaid?"

"No, a freebird. I'm training to be a navy pilot."

Her resemblance to Jackie is startling, uncanny, but now that I let myself, I see she's different in so many ways. Her beauty and personality are equally commanding, radiating an overwhelming aura of raw strength coupled with extraordinary grace. This Patricia is someone I'd never care to challenge, as I've little doubt she could take me, or anyone, really. I tell her I didn't know the navy had pilots.

"That's a common misconception, sir." She stands at exaggerated attention and salutes me. "It is the privilege and mission of the United States Navy to train and equip combat ready forces capable of waging and winning wars. My bird is perched atop a boat. "

"So you're a soldier?"

"Aren't you?" she asks wearily, as if to acknowledge there are more ways to wage a war than to win one. As we walk toward the balcony, I think to myself that she's something Jackie never could be - perceptive.

"Why would a lady want to be a soldier?"

"It's the perfect job for a woman, if you think about it. A woman is her child's first guard. I'm to be a mother to every man, woman and child in this nation."

Solemnly, I tell her she seems to be a steadfast defender.

"You have no idea. And it was my choice. We all make choices. For instance," she hands me a paper cup and as we toast the Patron Saint of Lady Freebirds, I swallow and realize she's served me a cup of bleach. I spit out a mouthful and gag, pissed to see her slight and entertained smile from behind the cup from which she is sipping.

"You gave me bleach!?" I throw the cup to the ground, gagging as I wipe my mouth on my shirt.

"Bleach and alcohol are practically the same thing," she shrugs. "The only difference is one takes longer to kill you, leaving plenty of time for everyone around you to suffer."

I stop short, no longer entertained by her resemblance to Jackie or the mystery of her. Before I can spit in her face, she lay her hand against my cheek and whispers, "I think you must have love this Jackie greatly." Her smile is soft and caring as she tells me goodbye. "I'd love to stay longer, but I'm fighting a war. Promise you'll be careful, Steven. Don't fall."

As she disappears into the crowd, I peer over the edge of the balcony to an oddly empty courtyard. There are no people, no bikes, no trash, no nothing but perfectly manicured grass and emptiness. Something feels off, very wrong and I cannot place it. I look up to the stars and think to myself that I shouldn't be here - something is missing. Someone is missing. Is Eric seeing these same stars? Is he thinking of me? Does he hate me now? Have I been unfair?

I know I'm fucked up, that I can fly off the handle. Did I start a fight that should never have happened? I release the breath I didn't realize I was holding, saddened by the unnatural level of silence that surrounds me. I'm alone and it's all my fault.

"Don't jump." A kind and friendly voice teases. I turn, starstruck, to find I've been joined by someone who can't possibly be here, which means I must be dead and explains the overwhelming cold and emptiness that threaten to drown me.

"Oh, don't be a drama queen, Steven. Leave that to me." His laugh is as warm and rich as I always imagined it would be. So many nights I lay in bed, listening to him on my radio and dreaming that he was my father or even my big brother. I've had so few men in my life that have left me with positive feelings, so I shouldn't be surprised that my guardian angel should take the form of Freddie Mercury.

I turn away from him, clutching the balcony's railing too tight. "I killed myself, didn't I?"

He places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. "What did I just tell you? Besides, pain and isolation are things that only the living can feel."

"And I'm still living?"

He slips his other arm around my waist and pulls me back into a hug, whispering in my ear, "I don't see why not."

It's then that I crumble, completely and embarrassingly so, by turning into his embrace, throwing my arms around his neck and squeezing him so tightly that I'm surprised he doesn't push me away. I hide my face in his shirt and scrunch my eyes together hard, trying not to show emotion though I know I'm failing miserably. And like a good guardian angel, he doesn't complain at all, but just holds me tight while I stammer apologies to no one in particular, maybe just the entire world around me.

"Why are you apologizing to me, Steven?"

My voice is so soft that even I have trouble hearing it. "Because I ruin everything. Because I let him be hurt. Because it's all my fault and it's eating me alive. Because none of them ever loved me before, but Eric did and I couldn't do anything but fuck it up."

He sighs, telling me it's a good thing I decided to stick around, since I have a lifetime worth of shit to figure out. He grabs my forearms, pushing me back to look into his eyes. "I know the words you want to say, Steven, because I wrote them. So why are you here with me? Stop overthinking everything and start telling him the things he needs to know."

I smile cautiously, knowing well he's right. He turns me gently toward the balcony, running his fingers through my curls as he pushes me forward. "Since I'm your dream man, I hope you won't mind one last bit of advice?"

I nod and he shoves me over the railing, warning me not to fall, but I do, in painful slow motion. The ground stretches out forever, never rising to meet me. Instead something slams into my body, like a thousand razors digging into my flesh and I find myself pinned to a tree, suspended by an arrow that must have just missed my heart.

I gasp for breath, tears sliding down my skin as I struggle against the indescribable pain. Straight ahead, I see my nameless tormentor, the cold woman from my vision, drop her long bow to the ground and fall to her knees. Blood pours from a gash in her shoulder, but she still has the energy to glare at me as if the venom of her anger could sustain her forever.

I want to speak, but the words don't come, so I beg with my eyes. They beg her to explain why she hates me so much, asking what I could ever have done to a woman so strong and so fine and to know why I deserve to have such mind-blowing agony inflicted on me.

I pull and rip at the immovable arrow, desperately fighting for each small breath I can manage, wishing I could understand just one G-d damn thing that's happening to me or the pathetic mess my life has become. And then I see stars. Sweet beautiful shootings stars and tiny pink cherry blossoms raining slowly from the sky, following my Eric as if they are a trail of breadcrumbs he's leaving behind.

The woman who shot me speaks softly and in a language I can't understand. I ask Eric what she's saying and he translates with kind patience, " ... the blood of who you once were can never be erased."

He grasps the arrow that pins me and I startle, terrified he'll try to rip it free. With great concentration, he squeezes it until it disintegrates in a burst of light and I crumble to the ground. But the relief that floods me is short lived, as I realize I've landed in a pool of blood that is not my own.

Eric falls to his knees beside me, eyes wide and disbelieving as he applies pressure to the gash that's opened in his shoulder. A single tear slides down his cheek and as our eyes lock, I'm paralyzed by the anguish he radiates. He catches himself with both hands as a spasm rocks his entire body, mouth wide open to pull in as much air as it takes to stifle his scream. I'm mumbling nonsense that even I don't understand and he looks up at me for one heart breaking moment and weakly cries, " ... traitor."

My uninjured arm reaches out to comfort him but is jerked and twisted behind my back with such force that I can't help but yelp in pain. A hand grabs my hair at the crown and throws me back until I crash into the wall. I startle to find myself on the Forman's kitchen floor, a knife protruding from my shoulder and Red standing over me with a baseball bat.

:)

To be continued ...

:)

For those illegally downloading the soundtrack

:) Everything I Own by Bread  
:) A White Shade of Pale by Procol Harem

AN: Anonymous reviewer - yeah, really.  
Also, I apologize for this chapter. I wrote it 4+ years ago, immediately after chapter 20, but I just wasn't sure. Now I'm ready just to say f-ck it, lets do this thing. Pieces of several other chapters are written and the next is almost ready to go. Don't be discouraged if things seem dark for a while; things never stay dark.  
xoxo,jenn


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